Broken Lives
by Chandagnac
Summary: AU. The story of some very damaged people doing the best they can to patch things up in the wake of the First Wizarding War. (This story has been abandoned.)
1. Arise from Ashes

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters associated with the Harry Potter books (or games, films, toys, etc). J.K. Rowling owns all of that stuff. I'm just thankful to her for letting me play in her sandbox. The entire purpose of this work of fiction is to amuse and entertain (yeah, I hope I achieve that). I make no money from this._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: Arise from Ashes<strong>

This year's annual meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was drawing to a close. Many of those who had bothered to attend were secretly relieved. It was believed by most of Wizarding Britain (and indeed the world) that the Dark Lord was dead and gone, thanks to little Harry Potter, and every year his memory was fading further into the distance. This was a new age, an age where no man or woman had to live in fear, and furtive secret organizations such as the Order of the Phoenix had become laughably irrelevant.

At least, that was the official view of the Ministry of Magic and its mouthpiece, Britain's foremost Wizarding newspaper, The Daily Prophet.

Albus Dumbledore, the head of the Order of the Phoenix, had confided to the other members that he believed the Dark Lord was not truly dead but trapped between life and death as a malevolent spectre, and that one day he would find a way to resurrect himself and continue his plan of conquest. Everyone in the Order of the Phoenix trusted Albus Dumbledore, believed in him, believed in what he had to say, even if they wished they didn't.

But the Order of the Phoenix was dying down; these days there were but a few faintly glowing embers of the fighting spirit they'd once had.

Throughout the evening, Severus Snape had been silent, aloof and uncomfortable, sitting by himself, avoided by almost everyone. Even if the others had considered him a proper member of the Order of the Phoenix (Dumbledore seemed to think so, but some of the others weren't so sure) they would have avoided him for his bitter and sneering attitude. Hogwart's Potion Master was well known as a festering pit of spite and resentment in human form, and so he was left alone. Before long, he made his excuse for leaving: 'Headmaster, I must get back to the castle. I have too much work to be getting on with. I can't-'

He was about to make a vicious remark along the lines of "it'll be a miracle if any of the dunderheads I have to teach this year get a passing grade", but he was exhausted and hopeless and he couldn't get the words out. Anyway, it was unnecessary; his weariness and disaffection had little to do with the quality of students he had to teach this year. Really, they were no worse than any other group of youths. But teaching a difficult and dangerous subject to an entire generation of young witches and wizards was a task of monumental proportions and Severus Snape was honest enough (with himself, at least) to admit that it wasn't something he could achieve all on his own.

He needed an assistant. Or Hogwarts could hire another Potions Master and they could divide up the classes between them. Together they might open up NEWT-level potions to students who had achieved Exceeds Expectations as well as Outstanding grades. (Most of the potions on the NEWT syllabus were diabolically dangerous and Severus Snape had categorically refused to teach them to more than a few people at a time, and only those who had a proven record of good behaviour in the classroom.)

Albus Dumbledore had been reluctant to discuss it. The school year had been going for several months and he felt it was too late to make sweeping changes. 'You managed it last year,' he pointed out. 'And the year before that, and for five years before that.'

'I didn't do a very good job,' Snape grunted. He was brooding over the fact that several of his most promising fifth-year students (now sixth-year students) had decided not to explore the exciting world offered to them by NEWT-level potions. He knew it was his fault. Not that he'd ever gone out of his way to treat them particularly badly; they were bright and studious, good kids, but they weren't Slytherins.

That year, Professor Snape had turned a blind eye while his Slytherin fifth-year favourites had tormented the Gryffindors to the point that he doubted any of them would ever want to step into the classroom with him again. Also, he had allowed the usually mild rivalry between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses to boil over into a classroom-wide brawl that had resulted in five students having to stay overnight in the hospital wing while they recovered from a wide variety of jinxes and hexes, burns and bruises, and the one boy who had "tripped and fallen on his Potions' knife".

Professor Sprout had been furious, insisting that Snape should be "sacked without delay!" Professor Flitwick was gravely worried and disappointed, and he said that "Professor Snape's failure to intercede before the problem got so out of hand was a woeful error of judgement". Professor Dumbledore had appeared outwardly calm, but Snape saw the rage in his eyes and heard it in his voice, and it made him feel, once again, like a little boy who'd been caught in the act of misbehaving.

'Why did you let this happen?' Dumbledore had said in an icy voice. Snape had had no answer for him. He had no real reason. Various answers crossed his mind: 'because I was bored' and 'because I hate my job so much' and 'because you've been letting me get away with this crap for years and I wanted to see how far I could go before you stopped me'. 'Because I shouldn't be Potions Master and you should sack me right away' was probably accurate, but Snape felt that he should make at least a token attempt to defend himself. He couldn't think of anything.

He shook his head dumbly. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He stayed rooted to the spot while Professor Dumbledore gave judgement.

Snape was not sacked. He was put on probation, and his professional conduct would be reviewed at the start of each new term. Also, he was stripped of his position as Head of Slytherin House. Professor Vector, teacher of Arithmancy, would take his place.

There were many who thought that Snape had got off lightly. Privately, Snape agreed with them. He had been on his best behaviour since the incident but he often found himself wishing that he was doing something- _anything_- else. He had nightmares of working as a teacher at Hogwarts until the day he died; serving in a dreary, lightless hell where he had to teach hundreds of faceless, horrible children who all hated and despised him, eternally suffering to atone for the crimes he'd committed.

Now, at the annual meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, Snape knew that he couldn't stay, even if he'd wanted to. He had to get back to the castle. He had work that must be done. There was always so much work to do. He couldn't escape it.

Dumbledore understood. 'Good night, Severus,' he said genially. 'I hope you've enjoyed yourself tonight.'

'What do you think?' Snape muttered. He quickly made his getaway, heading for the fireplace.

Several of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix seemed more cheerful and light-hearted now that Snape was gone. It wasn't that they disliked him (some of them were merely indifferent to him) so much that his presence cast a pall of gloom and depression over the proceedings.

Arthur Weasley was chatting animatedly with Sturgis Podmore. Earlier in the evening, Molly Weasley had briefly joined in the festivities and then nipped off back home because "I've asked Astrid to look after the children. I must go and see how she's getting on. They can be such a handful!"

Minerva McGonagall had been left in charge of Hogwarts while the Headmaster presided over this meeting. That was often the reason why she was unable to attend these meetings. Albus Dumbledore trusted her implicitly and counted on her to attend to his duties while he was otherwise engaged.

Aberforth, brother to Albus Dumbledore, hadn't bothered to show up, and neither had he sent his apologies, but that came as no surprise to anyone. Aberforth was a strange and solitary man.

Alastor Moody was morose and scathingly cynical; he hadn't touched the food or drink but he had a corner of the table to himself, where he was loudly quoting from the October 31st issue of the Daily Prophet and taking the occasional swig from his hip flask.

Mundungus Fletcher was glad of free food and drink, and he seemed quite happy, heaping some of the leftovers into his pockets. Alastor Moody was keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't take anything else. Usually, at these meetings, Mundungus Fletcher would have to be prevented from leaving with some of the cutlery and any items the other members of the Order had been careless enough to leave lying around for more than a few seconds. Last year, Moody had prevented Mundungus from leaving the Leaky Cauldron with a large oil painting and its gilt frame stuffed into his jacket.

Remus Lupin was making an effort to smile and enjoy himself, but he was distracted; his mind was on other things. Most of his worries and concerns had to do with money. Could he afford to pay rent for this month? Where could he find another job? What was he going to eat tomorrow?

He shrugged his shoulders and set out to follow Mundungus's example, wrapping up little packs of sandwiches and loading them into his pockets. Pride wasn't something he could afford; he'd take what he could get, if no one else minded. That was one problem solved, temporarily at least.

By now, Alastor Moody had stopped lambasting the Daily Prophet for its shoddy journalism and lamenting the lack of respect given to heroes of what was still a very recent conflict. He had turned his attention to another subject that was dear to his crabbed old heart.

'Stunning spells? What use are stunning spells? What good is a spell that lets your enemy get right back up again five seconds later?'

His eyes, one brown, one electric blue, swept around the room, although afterwards the magical eye was again fixated on Mundungus Fletcher.

'All of _you_- all of us- we fought well and bravely in the war against the Dark Lord! We scored some victories, even. And most of you did it with your hands tied behind your back. Not you, Dumbledore. And not me, obviously. But the rest of you-'

Wishing to head off what he knew was going to be a grisly and discomforting lecture, Dumbledore snapped at him, 'Alastor!'

'Let me finish, Dumbledore, let me finish. That's all I ask.' Mad-Eye Moody rubbed his hands together, grinning savagely. 'Now, the Prewetts, Gideon and Fabian, they fought like heroes; it took at least five Death Eaters to bring them down, but they died anyway. They fought with great valour and ingenuity, to the limits of the spells they knew, but nothing could save them.

'Imagine if they'd been taught the Blasting Curse, or- actually, they would have known the Severing Charm, wouldn't they? That's a second-year spell, right, Albus? A pity they didn't use it, hmm. Was it on the syllabus back then? I don't know.'

Mad-Eye Moody smiled grimly as he continued: 'Imagine what might have happened! First two Death Eaters enter the room-' He mimed the wand motion for the Severing Charm. '-straight through the neck. Two dead Death Eaters! And again!'

'Alastor!'

'Do you think the Prewetts couldn't have taken down Antonin Dolohov if they'd taken down his cronies and made damn sure they weren't going to get back up again?' Mad-Eye Moody spoke in a curiously conversational tone, ignoring Dumbledore's warning shouts.

Dumbledore had really been hoping that Alastor Moody would take the hint and shut up, but some of the other members of the Order were intrigued by what the ex-Auror had to say.

'I must say I'm surprised, Alastor,' Arthur Weasley said, with just the slightest hesitation before he dared to use Mad-Eye Moody's given name. 'I heard you would never kill a man if you could capture him instead. Are you saying that was wrong?'

'I captured a lot of Death Eaters,' Moody nodded. 'But it's worth noting that I almost always had a full team of Aurors at my back, well-armed and well-trained. We could afford to go to some lengths to take them alive. But if it was just me, hmm-' He shrugged. 'I've killed people. I'll kill a man if I have to, if it's him or me, if it's the only way to stop him-' His scarred face was suddenly further contorted by a snarl of rage. 'Mundungus!' he yelled. 'Put that back! I saw you! Put that back! Now!'

Mundungus Fletcher quickly replaced a cruet on the side table and tried not to look too guilty about it. Mad-Eye Moody's magic eye was still staring at him.

'Alastor, life is a precious and wondrous thing,' Dumbledore sighed. 'We are here to celebrate it, not to wallow in more stories of death and mutilation.'

'Yeah,' Moody muttered. 'That's kind of my point, I guess. Life is a precious and wondrous thing. So many of us died in the last war, bravely sacrificed their lives... and what was the point? The killers of the Prewetts were back in business the very next day, torturing more innocents, murdering and raping-'

'Alastor!' Dumbledore snapped. 'You forget yourself!'

He gestured around to the other members of the Order, most of whom were watching Mad-Eye Moody, open-mouthed, shocked and horrified. Arabella Figg was in tears. Dedalus Diggle looked more serious than Dumbledore had ever seen him.

'The fact is, we lost the war,' Mad-Eyed Moody said, in a monotone. 'We lost, and most people just don't realise it, happy with their squalid little lives, secure in their belief that nothing bad can ever happen again. Hah! There are Death Eaters in the highest echelons of government and Dementors guarding the prisons. The Dark Lord's still out there, somewhere, just looking for a way back, and it's bound to happen, someday soon. Little Harry Potter got us a temporary stay of execution, and it was a miracle, but-'

'Yes, it was a miracle!' Albus Dumbledore said brightly. He was glad of this opportunity to take control over the conversation and it had given him an idea for a somewhat optimistic conclusion to this evening's revelry. He picked up a wineglass and a decanter that was still mostly full. He walked around the room, filling everyone's wineglasses, with the exception of Mad-Eye Moody who only ever drank from his hip flask. Anyway, he'd had quite enough already, in Albus Dumbledore's opinion.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast,' he said, at last, when everyone had some wine. 'On this night, six years ago, the Dark Lord was defeated and cast-down; his power was shattered when his Killing Curse rebounded on him. He was unable to kill a one-year-old baby, Harry Potter.'

There were some cheers and whistles from the other members of the Order. They'd all heard this story before, so many times, but it was reassuring to hear it again.

Sure that he had his audience's full attention, Dumbledore continued: 'But what you may not know is that Harry Potter was saved _because_ his parents died to save him. That night, they unwittingly invoked old magic, blood magic, powers the Dark Lord knows nothing of. They sacrificed their lives to save their son, and in doing so they protected him from the most powerful Dark magic of all, and he is still protected, even now, while he stays with his closest living relatives-'

Arabella Figg let out a wail and burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. Dumbledore frowned at her. He had not expected this reaction. He supposed that as she was acting as his spy in the neighbourhood where Harry Potter and his muggle relatives lived, she must feel a personal connection to the boy that these others did not. He just had to hope that she wouldn't let anything slip.

She had told him that the Dursleys treated Harry Potter badly; they used him as a servant, fed him barely enough to keep body and soul together, and locked him in the cupboard under the stairs every night. They had never given him the slightest morsel of kindness or affection; in fact, they told him how worthless and ungrateful he was, and they encouraged their loathsome son, Dudley, to hit him. Albus Dumbledore was grieved by this, and he'd told Arabella Figg that he was sorry; he wished it wasn't necessary...

Remus Lupin carefully took Mrs. Figg's wineglass from her and replaced it on the table before she could drop it or any more wine could slop onto the floorboards.

'Are you alright, Mrs. Figg?' he said uselessly. He put his arm around the old lady to steady her and then she was sobbing into his shoulder.

'Poor Harry...' She sniffled. 'How could they do that to him? How can they treat him so cruelly?'

'Yes, it was terrible,' he said automatically, before his brain had fully deciphered what she had said. 'Poor Harry.'

'It's still going on! They hurt him! They starve him!' She sobbed harder. 'He's just a little boy!'

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore was bringing his speech to a close: '-because of them, we were given a reprieve! We live in peace and prosperity, without fear! The darkness has been pushed back, for a time, because of them. And so I'd like to propose a toast: to Lily and James Potter!'

'To Lily and James Potter!' most of the others said, draining their glasses. The exceptions were Arabella Figg, who was still crying into Lupin's shoulder, and Remus Lupin, who was frowning and trying to make sense of what Arabella Figg had told him.

Mad-Eye Moody took a gulp from his hip flask. 'To the Boy who Lived!' he said. 'May he live for a while yet!'

Dumbledore glared at him. He thought that Alastor Moody had been exceptionally obnoxious tonight and he wasn't quite sure why. He knew Moody had been getting wild and paranoid since the end of the war; perhaps boredom and isolation and the deaths of most of his friends had driven him to the brink of insanity.

'Good speech, Albus,' Moody said grudgingly. 'Wish I'd known before about how the Potters saved their kid; I've often wondered how that happened. Still, it doesn't work like that every time, does it? Or is there more to it that you just haven't told us?'

'I'm going to make sure Mrs. Figg gets home safely, Dumbledore, if that's alright,' Lupin interjected.

'Yes, of course,' Dumbledore said distractedly. 'Er, wait, perhaps it would be better if I did that? I can Apparate her there in no time at all-'

Lupin was gone. Dumbledore looked around the room and he couldn't see Arabella Figg anywhere either. They must have left in rather a hurry. Ah well, Dumbledore thought; one less thing for him to take care of before he returned to Hogwarts.

Mad-Eye Moody was still speaking, apparently under the fond delusion that Dumbledore was hanging on to his every word.

'I know Edgar Bones would have gladly sacrificed his life to save his son and his pretty little daughters from what was done to them. In fact, that's just what he did. He went down fighting, him and his wife.' He sighed. 'But it didn't do them any good. That entire family was slaughtered-'

'Yes, Alastor, I know that,' said Dumbledore impatiently. 'It was an awful tragedy. Was there a point you wished to make?'

'Well, if there is a way for people to protect the ones they love by sacrificing their lives, and you know what it is, why not share it with the rest of us?' Mad-Eye Moody said in a suspiciously reasonable tone. 'We both know the Dark Lord is coming back, sooner or later. If the members of the Order of the Phoenix start dropping like flies like they did in the last war, don't you think it would be better if our deaths actually achieved something?'

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. 'Why are you asking me this? What does it matter to you? Is there someone you love, Alastor?'

'It's not all about me, you-!' Alastor Moody was shocked speechless for an instant. His magic eye whirred around the room. He'd taken his eye off Mundungus Fletcher, just for a second, and now the scrawny little thief was gone! He'd have to track him down and make sure he hadn't taken anything he wasn't entitled to. Just a minute...

'Hah! Love? Me? No. I never had time for it. You know how it is,' Moody murmured.

'Oh yes,' Dumbledore said in a tone that was as devoid of emotion as he could make it. 'I once had a true love, one I loved more than anything, more than words can say. And the world seemed a brighter and kinder place for as long as I was with my love.'

Moody looked curiously at him. This was a side to Dumbledore that he'd not seen before. 'What happened to her?'

'There was a fight,' Dumbledore said, remembering. He could never forgive himself for what had happened. 'And the next time I saw _him_, we were enemies.'

'Who'd have thought it?' Moody mused. 'Well, good for you, I say. There's not enough love in the world.'

'No, there wasn't,' Dumbledore agreed.

Mad-Eye Moody's one brown eye stared at Dumbledore for a moment. He looked uneasy; he knew there was more to what Dumbledore had said than had been revealed, but he was unwilling to pry any deeper. It unnerved him to see his old friend, Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts, looking so vulnerable.

'Well, I should get going,' he said awkwardly. 'It's been fun.'

'Yes, it's late,' said Arthur Weasley, who'd just come over to say his goodbyes. 'I've got to be up early tomorrow.'

'No such thing as a lazy Sunday in the Weasley household, is that right, Arthur?' Dumbledore said with feigned cheeriness.

'Yes, that's right,' Arthur chuckled. 'Good night, everyone.'

And so the meeting broke up and the members of the Order went their separate ways. Albus Dumbledore flooed back to Hogwarts. He indulged in some hot cocoa before bedtime and sat thinking for a while. He was lost in a haze of melancholy, with the vague feeling that he'd forgotten something.

In the meantime, Arabella Figg and Remus Lupin had left The Leaky Cauldron and were heading out into muggle London, which was still a fairly crowded and slightly intimidating place even at this time of night.

'You got the train here, right?' Lupin guessed. 'We'll get the train back to yours.'

He grimaced. He really couldn't afford to be spending money like this. He'd be eating whatever he could scavenge from dustbins for the next couple of weeks. But... this was the first sign of his best friend's son's whereabouts that he'd seen in years. He couldn't ignore this. Harry was more important.

'We're not going to apparate?' Mrs. Figg said, happily. 'Oh, thank you! I hate apparition. It always makes me feel sick.'

'I've never seen your home so I couldn't apparate you there,' Lupin reminded her. 'It'll have to be the train. Er, where do we go from here?'

Before too much longer they had walked to the train station, bought tickets and were on the train to Surrey. Remus Lupin had tried hard not to look aghast at the price of his ticket, but something must have showed on his face. Arabella Figg offered to give him half of the money he needed ("It's only fair, dear, you're doing this for me, after all.") and after not very much thought Lupin had agreed. ('Pride is for those who can afford it,' he thought to himself.)

'I suppose you want to talk to me about Harry Potter,' Mrs. Figg said unhappily as soon as they were both seated in an empty carriage.

'Was I that obvious?' Lupin said with a wry smile.

'I-I'm really not supposed to talk to anyone about him,' Mrs. Figg said feebly.

'And why is that, Mrs. Figg?' Lupin asked patiently. He was reasonably certain that Mrs. Figg wanted nothing more than to confide in and tell him everything she knew about Harry. But she'd tell him in her own time, so he was careful not to rush things.

'Dumbledore told me not to,' Mrs. Figg whispered. She lowered her head, staring at the pattern of blackened chewing gum on the floor.

'Mrs. Figg, I was a very good friend of Lily and James Potter. I just want to see that their son is safe and healthy.' Lupin smiled winsomely. 'I'd like to make up for six years of missed birthdays and Christmases, but I've no idea how-'

The blood had drained from Mrs. Figg's face. She looked like she was about to start crying again. 'He's not safe and he's not healthy!' she bawled. 'He's tiny, and thin, and they pick on him, and he's never had a birthday or a Christmas present!'

Lupin's face was a stony mask. He felt coldly wrathful; with a tremendous effort, he was keeping his anger in check, but at any moment he felt he might explode. He hadn't felt this way since... well, just after the end of the war. He wanted to find out what had happened, what had gone wrong and who were the wronged, and he wanted to see justice done. He wanted blood and fresh meat, red and dripping off the bone. He hungered.

The desires of the rational, civilised man and the raging accursed monster were so mixed up it was a minute before he could tell the difference between them.

The full moon would come soon. Five days remained. Very soon.

'Mrs. Figg,' Lupin said, after a moment, when he finally trusted himself to speak. 'Please tell me about Harry Potter. Tell me everything.'


	2. Unlikely Allies

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters associated with the Harry Potter books (or games, films, toys, etc). J.K. Rowling owns all of that stuff. I'm just thankful to her for letting me play in her sandbox. The entire purpose of this work of fiction is to amuse and entertain (yeah, I hope I achieve that). I make no money from this._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: Unlikely Allies<strong>

Severus Snape had not wanted to add to his workload, but this was something he had decided that he must do, and he was resolved to this course of action. He had written several reams of rhetoric already, each point more damning than the last, and he was currently working his way towards an earth-shattering conclusion.

His office was deathly silent except for the scratching of his quill; there were some experimental potions he had wanted to work on, but he didn't have time to make the necessary preparations. He missed the gentle bubbling of potions left to simmer that had been background noise for so much of the time since he had been made Hogwarts Potion Master. But he was too busy for that now.

He had make up his mind to do something that he knew would be unpleasant and humiliating for him, and cause no end of problems for the Headmaster and some of the other members of staff, although he was convinced that it was the right thing to do, for the good of everyone; for the students who might at last get a decent quality of education, for Professor Dumbledore who could go back to ensuring the smooth running of Hogwarts school with a clear conscience, and for Severus Snape who might be able to move on and do something worthwhile with his life while he still had a few last vestiges of sanity.

He was writing his letter of resignation. Professor Dumbledore would be gravely disappointed, and he'd say that this was an abuse of the trust he'd placed in Snape by refusing to sack him after the incident earlier in the year, it would be a terrible disruption to the students in the middle of their studies and where was he supposed to find another qualified Potions Master at short notice? With that in mind, Snape had collected cuttings from magazines that told of the accomplishments of qualified Potions Masters from around the world, all of them young and brilliant and hungry for more work.

Besides, this wouldn't be the first time Professor Dumbledore had had to find a replacement teacher at short notice; he'd gotten quite adept at finding new Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers. It was said that the position was cursed, and indeed, for many years, no one had managed to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts for longer than a year. Some of the previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers had died tragically, others had vanished mysteriously, others had been unable to return to the job after one year due to illness, or run-ins with the law, or because they'd had the wisdom to give up the job as soon as one school year was done, thus avoiding being struck down by the curse.

At least one Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had not even managed to serve out the full year; Snape remembered Professor Cotterall who had been killed in an unfortunate accident during the Christmas period, although Professor Dumbledore had confided in Snape, telling him that he wasn't sure that Professor Cotterall's untimely death had anything to do with the alleged curse.

'A powerful curse, yes, but they generally need to be very specific,' he'd said sagely. 'If the Dark Lord said "No one shall be Defence Against the Dark Arts tutor for longer than one year" then the curse should not have been activated until the end of that one year. No, I'm afraid poor Rupert's death was the result of routine bad luck.'

That was the job Severus Snape had wanted. He still wanted it, and he made a point of applying whenever the position became vacant. Professor Dumbledore had refused him seven times.

He wondered if he really would have been a better teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was abundantly qualified and he had a genuine passion for the subject that should have made it a joy to teach. He hated teaching Potions, even if brewing potions was what he did best. He loathed having to teach children who had no respect for the subject and no respect for the (sometimes horrendously dangerous) ingredients they used, who'd rather gossip, bicker and mess around than do any work.

And the Slytherins were _worse_. Not only did they behave as badly as any of the members of the other houses, they had expected absurd favouritism from Snape back when he was their Head of House. He felt nothing but contempt for those who expected unearned rewards and special favours because of who their fathers were or who their great-great-grandfathers had been, but he kept his true feelings carefully concealed, lavishing his Slytherins with house points and arguing that even their most grievous crimes should be punished with nothing worse than a detention.

So much had happened that, by now, Snape had somewhat lost track of _why_ he had done all that. It was important that the old, Dark, Pureblood families should not feel isolated, that their ancient names should still have some value, so that they would not withdraw their children from the school. Dumbledore had explained that to him. And he had to admit that it amused him to annoy the other teachers, especially Professor McGonagall, who was scrupulously fair and honest and a proud Gryffindor.

There was an edge of bitterness and mockery to everything that Snape did, and each time that Snape rewarded some of the worst of his Slytherins he thought about how much he detested them, and this was how he derided them as cruel and stupid incompetents who could never have earned these rewards honestly. But no one else noticed that this was Snape's attitude, and they wouldn't have cared anyway, and Snape had no idea of how he'd explain this idea to the other members of staff: perhaps, "No, that was a _satire_ of Slytherin House winning the House Cup even though they deserved to finish last!"

It was all academic now, anyway. Professor Vector was the new Head of Slytherin House and she was doing a good job. At first the Slytherins had expected the same kinds of favouritism and special treatment from her that they had enjoyed under Snape's regime, and they had been shocked by her flat refusal to accommodate them.

Septima Vector was a fiercely intelligent, famously strict, powerful witch, and she soon mastered Slytherin House, ruling with cast-iron authority and keen perceptiveness that saw through all their tricks and stratagems. Many of the Slytherins had resented her at first, but before long that resentment had turned to awe and respect.

Snape had overheard one second-year student loudly telling his friends: 'My brother said that his friend saw someone in his class being rude to Professor Vector, and she just gave him a look- you know how she does it, like she's piercing into the depths of your soul- and then she wrote down some calculations on a piece of paper, and handed it to him, and she told him that she'd mathematically proven that he didn't exist. And then he vanished.'

'Wow,' they all said reverently. 'And then what happened?'

'No one knows what his name was or remembers anything about him,' the second-year student said in a spooky whisper. 'It's as if he never existed.'

They were all scared and very impressed and they went off to tell their friends and add their own little exaggerations to the already wild tale. Snape smiled slightly; he'd been amused by that story.

Arithmancy was suddenly popular amongst the Slytherins and most of the second-years planned to take it as one of their third-year elective subjects. Snape had to approve. Arithmancy was a difficult subject but it was incredibly useful for those who truly mastered it. Certainly it was a far better choice than a waste-of-time subject like Divination.

Snape still liked to keep track of what was going on with the Slytherins, even if he was no longer their Head of House. The sad fact was that he still felt loyal to his old house; even if they disappointed him; even if he despaired of some of them ever getting anywhere in life if they weren't already the heirs to wealth, power and complete idleness beyond his wildest dreams; even if, with his favouritism, he had taught them nothing except laziness and how to sponge off others.

He still cared about what happened to them. He still wanted them to do well.

He'd done a bad job of juggling his duties as Head of House and his immense workload as Hogwarts' only Potions Master. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he could handle any part of that responsibility and he had decided that he must leave Hogwarts and somehow sort his life out.

How had old Slughorn managed it? Snape recalled the former Potions Master, an oily fat man who had somehow ingratiated himself with the vast majority of Hogwarts students; Snape remembered packed classrooms of eager students paying rapt attention to the ridiculous man. Slughorn had taken an instant dislike to the young Snape, which was reciprocated; Slughorn had his own system of favouritism whereby he lavished his attentions on the most beautiful, charming and well-connected people in the room. Young Snape had been plain (some would have said "ugly"), shy and poorly-dressed, and it was only with hard work and his prodigious natural talents that he was able to excel at Potions.

Slughorn had been extravagant. His NEWT-level classes were far larger than Snape would have been comfortable with, but the students actually respected Slughorn and listened to every word that came out of his mouth and there were never any accidents. And, more than once, Slughorn had offered a vial of _Felix Felicis_, the potion of liquid luck, expensive and fiendishly difficult to brew correctly, as a reward to the winner of a little potions-making contest on the first day of class.

Snape had to admit that Slughorn's methods had been very successful, but he doubted that he could use them or that they would work for him. For better or worse, he was trapped in the role he had made for himself, stuck in a rut. He had to break out. He had to go.

At last, he put the finishing touches to his letter of resignation, blotted his parchment and set down his quill. Then he re-read what he'd written to make sure that there was nothing he had missed and he'd made no obvious mistakes. Satisfied, he went to wash his hands and smarten up a bit. When he was ready, he collected his parchment and left his office, heading through the winding castle corridors on his way to see the Headmaster.

He passed by a few students milling about in the corridors; they had nothing to say to him and they were fearfully quiet and respectful as he walked by. It was only after he was a fair distance away that he heard their muttering recommence. They didn't like him; they were afraid of him and he'd cultivated a poisonous atmosphere in his Potions classes. They had the good sense not to voice what they really thought about him where there was a chance he might hear, but he knew they wouldn't have anything nice to say. He didn't blame them in the slightest.

In one of the corridors he saw two Gryffindor first-years who were in the middle of an altercation. Both of them were aiming their wands at each other in an attempt to appear intimidating. The effect was somewhat comical. Neither of them had noticed Professor Snape yet.

He took a moment to assess the situation.

One of the boys was tall and gangling with red hair. Snape recognised him as one of the Weasley brothers, Percy; a bright, industrious, serious young man and an eager student. He was cradling his pet rat in both hands while it was squirming and wriggling, trying to get away, and he was trying to hold his wand at the same time. Snape was mildly disgusted when he got a good look at the rat; it was a mangy, wretched thing with a tattered left ear and a missing toe on its front paw and it was shedding hair all over the place.

Snape had no reason to dislike Percy Weasley; in fact, the boy was the best student he had in his first-year classes. It was just that Percy somewhat reminded him of a young Remus Lupin.

The other boy was short and somewhat plump. He had made no impression on Snape in lessons and it took him a moment to remember the boy's name: Roland Pritchard. He had gathered up his pet Kneazle in both arms and in one hand he held his wand, which he pointed uncertainly in Percy's general direction. The Kneazle was making no effort to escape; it was waiting patiently, biding its time; it turned its head to glance at Snape, giving him a look of such beguiling intelligence that Snape was momentarily startled. It quite derailed his train of thought.

'Professor Snape!' Pritchard started, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, horrified.

Weasley turned. The expression on his face was a tableau of guilt mingled with outrage, self-righteousness, shame and defiance. He sputtered his excuses and explanations, and Pritchard joined in. Snape waited patiently for them both to run out of words.

'No duelling in the castle, boys,' he drawled. 'You know the rules.'

'We weren't duelling!' they said.

He raised an eyebrow and sneered at them both. 'Indeed?'

'It was a- a misunderstanding,' Pritchard muttered.

'Yes! His cat won't understand that he can't eat Scabbers!' Weasley shouted. He had flushed bright red with anger or embarrassment.

Snape suppressed a snort. "Scabbers!" What a name! Although he supposed it fit the vile creature rather well.

'He's a Kneazle!' Pritchard protested. 'And a Kneazle is basically a cat. And that's just what cats do: they eat rats, Perce! It's nature!'

'Maybe you should keep your pet under control!'

'Maybe _you_ should!'

'Quiet!' Snape snapped. Both boys fell silent. They were waiting anxiously to hear what he had to say, on tenterhooks, expecting him to take points from them or give them detentions. He took a deep breath and looked from one to the other.

'You share a dormitory, don't you?' he asked. They nodded warily. 'And you're going to have to share it for the next- hmm- seven years, possibly. You need to learn to live with each other. You need to learn compromise. And when you argue you need to find a mature and responsible way to resolve your differences. That means _not_ threatening each other with wands and causing a scene in the castle corridors. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Professor Snape,' they said. Each one looked at the other, thoughtfully. That was probably the best Snape could hope for; at least he'd given them something to think about.

'Thank you, Professor Snape,' Pritchard added.

'Are you going to punish us?' Weasley said. Snape was taken aback by his boldness. He had occasionally thought that Percy Weasley really should be in Ravenclaw and it was only his family ties that had ensured he was placed in Gryffindor, but maybe the Sorting Hat had been right after all.

'Why would I want to punish you?' he said lazily. 'Have you done anything wrong?'

Abashed, Weasley lowered his head and stared down at his shoes. Old and tatty as they were, they made for quite an interesting object of study.

'No, Professor,' he mumbled.

'Be off with you then,' Snape said, with none of his usual harshness. 'You too, Pritchard. Oh, and if you can't come to some agreement about your pets- I agree, a Kneazle and a rat should not be kept in the same dorm- then you must take your problem to your Head of House. Got that?'

They murmured their assent and beat a hasty retreat. Snape was left feeling incongruously light-hearted. It made for a nice change.

He didn't have to do anything. He'd been under no obligation to reward or punish those boys. He'd given them advice, and they could take it or leave it for all he cared; it made no difference to him. He didn't have to take responsibility for what happened between them. He didn't have to knock down Gryffindor for every mild infraction so that Slytherin could keep pace with them in the House Cup. Why bother? It didn't have to be anything to do with him. It wasn't his problem.

It was a remarkably liberating feeling. Snape had assumed many responsibilities over the past seven years- _assumed_ in the sense that he had taken them for granted without ever really considering whether it was a good idea or whether they were things that his Slytherins had any real right to, but now he was throwing off his chains of obligation. Soon he would be free.

At last, he reached the ugly gargoyle that guarded the staircase that led to the Headmaster's office. The gargoyle would not let him in without a password and Snape wasn't in any mood to rack his brains for the names of muggle confectionary. Besides, he knew that this meeting was likely to degenerate into a haranguing match, but he wanted to start off as politely as he could and make Dumbledore well-disposed towards him if that was at all possible.

He spoke to the gargoyle: 'Please tell Professor Dumbledore that Severus Snape is here to see him at his earliest convenience.'

The gargoyle nodded and Snape had to suppose that it had conveyed the message to Dumbledore if he was in his office. He was left to wait for at least ten minutes, and he was growing impatient.

So he was surprised when the dishevelled figure of Remus Lupin staggered into view, acknowledged his existence with a curt nod and a muttered 'evening, Snape', and headed over to the gargoyle and asked to see the Headmaster.

The gargoyle gave another nod, but Dumbledore did not appear. Lupin had to wait and cool his heels for a while, just like Snape.

'Merlin's breath, Lupin,' Snape said, shaking his head. 'What happened to you? You look half-dead!'

Lupin blinked. 'Well, I, uh-' He stopped to gather his thoughts. From what Snape could see, Lupin must have left his brain at home. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing at last night's meeting, Snape noticed. 'I had to apparate to Hogsmeade and then walk up to the castle. Bit of a rough journey, as I'm sure you know. Hah.'

He barked a laugh. It was horribly fake and Lupin must have realised that he wasn't fooling Snape, as he straight away began to explain what was bothering him: 'I've just made a terrible discovery and I must discuss it with the Headmaster right away.'

'"Terrible discovery"?' Snape mused, interested despite himself. 'Have you found out where Fenrir Greyback has been hiding?'

Lupin paled. 'I- I can't talk about it,' he said.

Snape understood. Lupin disliked and distrusted him. The feeling was mutual; it had been ever since they were boys together at school, and Lupin's pack of cronies had bullied Snape mercilessly. Snape had never forgiven the werewolf for his role in a despicable plot that had been intended to leave Snape dead or mutilated.

Still staring at the wall, Lupin was considering, thinking about what might happen, turning the problem over and over in his mind. He reached a decision. He hoped he'd made the right choice; it wasn't something he could go back on.

'Actually, it's not my secret to keep,' he said slowly. 'I think _everyone_ in the Order of the Phoenix should know. Although-' He hesitated for an instant. '-this information could cause disastrous damage if it fell into the wrong hands.'

'Would you like me to swear an oath that I'll keep it to myself?' Snape asked.

Lupin shook his head grimly. 'No. You needn't do that.' He sighed heavily. 'Whatever happens, we have to live with the consequences. I wish Professor Dumbledore had thought about that before he let Harry Potter be starved, bullied and abused by his muggle relatives.' There was an undertone of anger to Lupin's voice that Snape had not heard there before. 'What was he playing at?'

It took a few moments before Snape's brain could fully process what Lupin had just said. Even when he was sure he understood it, he wasn't sure he believed it. He had always imagined that Harry Potter would grow up as spoiled as any prince, growing up in the lap of luxury, pampered and coddled, a celebrity since long before he could walk or talk. It was inconceivable that what Lupin had said could be true.

'Is that true?' Snape said stupidly, cursing himself for a fool.

'Yes!' Lupin cried; he looked frantic, as if he was about to start tearing at his hair and scratching at the walls. No, wait: the full moon was in four nights' time. 'I've seen him. He's a shy little boy, scrawny and underfed, and they give him old clothes to wear that are much too big for him, and they make him do all the chores, treat him like a house-elf, tell him he's worthless and ungrateful and a scrounger and they wish he'd never been dumped on them!'

His face was twisted by loathing. 'And, at the same time, they give their bloated fat son so much love and affection- it's unhealthy- they're always buying him treats and presents and extra food and they encourage him to hit Harry and-' He stopped to gasp for breath. '-Harry has to sleep every night locked in the cupboard under the stairs,' he finished.

'How did you find out about this?' Snape asked quietly. Lupin's story had pierced him to the depths of his battered soul. It had brought back painful memories of his own childhood, of being beaten and abused, of living in fear, of having no one. He'd been lonely for so long...

'Mrs. Figg- Arabella Figg of the Order of the Phoenix- she told me. She's been acting as Dumbledore's spy, watching over Harry for him, but she doesn't agree with how he's been treated. It wasn't difficult to get her to tell me.' Lupin shrugged. 'So I went to see for myself. I hung about there for most of yesterday, and I went back there today; there were a few things I wanted to check.

'I had to disillusion myself; rather a posh neighbourhood; didn't want them wondering why there was a tramp peeking in through their windows.' His slight smile was tinged with bitterness. 'I'd rather not get arrested by muggle police again.'

'Understandable,' Snape agreed. He scratched his chin and frowned a bit. Lupin had extended quite a lot of trust, so he felt it behoved him to make a peace offering of his own. He had an idea: 'Effy!' he yelled.

One of Hogwarts' vast tribe of house-elves materialised in front of him. She was one of the few he knew by name; a tiny creature with large bat-like ears. She blinked at him owlishly. 'Yes, Master Professor Snape, what can I do for you, sir?'

'Go to the kitchens and get something for Mr. Lupin here to eat and drink. Please,' he said. She nodded and vanished.

'Ah, thank you,' Lupin said in a tone of mild surprise. 'I haven't eaten much today- just a few sandwiches- I've been preoccupied.'

'Yes, I can see that.'

Effy the house-elf reappeared a few moments later with a tray on which there was a big bowl of hot, nourishing chicken soup and a pot of tea. Snape dragged a chair out of one of the nearby classrooms and transfigured it into a padded armchair so that Lupin could sit down to eat.

'Remarkably generous of you, Snape,' Lupin said gratefully, sitting down and balancing the tray on his knees. He ate hungrily but steadily; his stomach was a yawning chasm that felt like it could never be filled, so he might as well take his time and savour the taste.

'Not really,' Snape murmured. 'You could have done that yourself.'

'Well, I suppose so,' Lupin said, thinking about it. 'But it would have been rude of me.' He smiled at Snape. 'Thank you for your hospitality.'

'Don't mention it.'

Snape turned away for a moment. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting ideas, needs, thoughts and memories, desires and old hatreds. It took some time before he was able to assert any kind of control over the milieu.

'What are you going to say to Dumbledore?' he asked.

Lupin looked uncertain. 'Well, I thought I'd tell him what's been going on, ask him why he's allowed this to happen to Lily and Jame's son- no, to _any_ child, no matter who the parents were- and I'll ask him what he's planning to do about it.'

'And what will you do if he plans to do nothing?'

'I... I'll demand that he has Harry Potter placed in the care of a loving, decent family. And if he refuses-' Lupin swallowed; he was hesitant to believe that Dumbledore might not have Harry's best interests at heart. '-I'll go tell the Ministry of Magic. I'll tell the Daily Prophet. Anyone-' He looked contemplatively at Snape. 'You'll tell Lucius Malfoy, won't you?'

'Not if you don't want me to,' Snape pledged.

Lupin barked a harsh laugh. 'You can probably judge for yourself how awful I think this situation is, that I think Lucius Malfoy getting his hooks into the boy would be the lesser of two evils. At least the Malfoys wouldn't starve him or lock him in a tiny cell or encourage their son to beat him-'

Snape considered it. The Malfoy family probably comprised Harry Potter's closest living relatives in the Wizarding World, but the head of the family, Lucius Malfoy, had been one of the Dark Lord's most prominent servants, and not everyone believed that he had coerced into it by the Imperius Curse. On the other hand, the family Malfoy was extremely wealthy and had a great deal of influence in the Ministry of Magic, enough that they could probably persuade most people to forget the past and let them stake their claim on Harry Potter.

'I'd imagine that's exactly what Dumbledore was trying to avoid,' Snape said, having considered it. 'He wouldn't want Harry to fall into the hands of any Death Eater.'

'So he would rather Harry be abused by his relatives instead?' Lupin said sourly. 'What, he didn't realise that there might be other, better, alternatives?'

It was a rhetorical question and Snape didn't bother to answer. He was revising his plans. He was formulating an idea.

'When you speak to Dumbledore, I'd like to be there with you,' he said determinedly. 'I'll back you up, make sure he doesn't just _Obliviate_ you-'

Lupin was shocked. Even now, he was incapable of thinking of Dumbledore as an enemy. 'You really think he'd do that?'

'We're talking about a man who placed the saviour of the British Wizarding World in the hands of people who then abused him.' Snape closed his eyes, feeling utterly weary. 'And he's done nothing to rectify the situation even though-' He hesitated. 'I presume his spies have told him what's going on-'

Lupin helpfully supplied: 'Yes, Mrs. Figg told him many times.'

'A man like that could do anything,' Snape said. He rubbed his eyes. He was leaning against the wall for support. 'I know, he probably thinks that he has good reasons, and I'm sure they'll seem convincing, but-'

'Are you alright?' Lupin asked. There was concern in his voice. 'Should I get Madam Pomfrey?'

'No, I'm fine,' Snape said, in spite of all evidence to the contrary. 'We have to convince Dumbledore to move Harry Potter to a place where he can be safe- not just safe from the servants of the Dark Lord, but truly safe- healthy and secure, surrounded by people who love him-' He was shaking. 'He deserves-' His eyes were burning. 'He deserves to-'

He thought of Lily. She was such a wonderful person. She was so kind and sweet and beautiful and such a good friend and he loved her...

She had sacrificed her life for her son. And now her sacrifice was rendered meaningless- ruined, poisoned- by what her relatives had done- by what Dumbledore had done.

'He deserves to be happy,' Snape mumbled. It was difficult to get the words past the lump in his throat.

Lupin looked at him gravely for a moment. Then he gave Snape the first genuine smile he'd seen that day. It was a warm and pleasant smile, and it made Lupin look young again.

'We'll do this together then,' he said, offering Snape his hand. He spoke quietly, awkwardly: 'Er, I know I haven't always treated you fairly in the past- I am sorry, truly. I-' He hesitated again. 'I'm glad to have you on my side.'

Snape shook his hand and forced a smile of his own. 'It doesn't matter now,' he murmured. 'This is about Harry.'

It was at about this time that the gargoyle guarding the stairs up to the Headmaster's office leapt aside to allow them entrance.

Lupin shrugged. 'After you,' he said.

* * *

><p><em>Note: I would like some more reviews if anyone has the time and would like to tell me what they think. Reviews are the fuel that keeps me writing fanfiction!<em>


	3. The Worm That Turned

_Disclaimer: All of the Harry Potter characters and their world are property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. I am making no money from this. I wish only to entertain and to play in J.K Rowling's wonderful sandbox of delights._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: The Worm That Turned<strong>

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had had a long, busy day. It had been occasionally productive but mostly tense and baffling. He had woken up early in the morning, and his first thoughts were to rue that he'd let wine and camaraderie loosen his lips last night.

He had no fear that Alastor Moody would spread salacious gossip, but what if he had been overheard? What if a reporter from the Daily Prophet had somehow sneaked into the meeting in disguise- yes, when he'd taken a few deep breaths and calmed down a bit, yes, he realised that it was impossible, but blind panic had threatened to overwhelm him for a minute there- well, what if?

Dumbledore could just imagine the headlines: "AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT DUMBLEDORE!" and "MILD-MANNERED HEADMASTER'S STEAMY ROMANCE WITH MASS-MURDERING PSYCHOPATH!"

Of course, he hadn't mentioned Gellert Grindlewald by name, but he knew that piecing together the clues would be short work for a determined investigative journalist. Although he was satisfied that the story would not be leaked to the media by anyone in the Order of the Phoenix (just to make sure, he had taken some time that day to track down Mundungus Fletcher and make sure that he had been out of the room at the time and had not overheard), he was sickened by the slightest possibility that his darkest secrets could become the subject of common gossip.

He kept many things hidden, even from those who knew him best, secreted behind walls of Occlumency at the back of his mind. His regrets, sorrows and desires, the tragedies that had marred his life, his dreams and nightmares; he allowed none of them to intrude into his daily life. He would not allow them to become fodder for the newspapers, to be picked over and analysed by agony aunts and gossip columnists, to become cheap entertainment for the masses. He could not stand to be made a figure of mockery and derision for all of Wizarding Britain.

It would not happen. He was sure it could not. But he had been careless and he had nearly paid the price.

At least he had achieved what he had intended when he had revealed that piece of information; Alastor Moody had been rattled and was distracted from asking even more probing questions about the blood wards that protected Harry Potter. It wasn't that he liked deceiving his friends (and Alastor Moody was certainly the closest thing that Dumbledore had to a friend); rather, he liked to play his cards close to his chest and (in this case) he was embarrassed at the paucity of his knowledge.

The fact was that he didn't quite understand the protective magics that Lily Potter's sacrifice had bestowed upon her son; there were people in the Department of Mysteries who'd spent lifetimes trying to understand such things. However, he knew that the blood wards were extremely powerful, that they shielded Harry from any dark magicians or creatures that would seek to harm him, and he was convinced that they should not be lightly discarded.

He wasn't entirely sure of the limitations of the blood wards or what was needed to maintain them, so he erred on the side of caution; Harry Potter would spend his childhood in safety with Lily Potter's blood relatives. Even if they did not welcome him into their home, even if they begrudged him the food he ate and the clothes he wore, they'd still provided him with a roof over his head; they were his family; that was enough.

Albus Dumbledore did not think of himself as a bad man. It was just that he looked at the world on a far grander scale than everyone else did. He was saddened to think that Harry Potter would suffer an unhappy childhood, but if that was necessary to ensure the salvation of the entire British Wizarding World, it was not too great a price to pay.

His thoughts had been with Harry Potter for a large part of this day while he was busy with the piles of administrative work that were needed to keep Hogwarts school ticking over nicely. Most of the documents were already completed and just required his signature, but he knew that it was good sense to read them through first. Sometimes while he was buried in piles of jargon and legalese, all of it dry, dusty and unimaginably boring, his mind floated free and he daydreamed.

And then, quite late in the day, just a few hours ago, Dumbledore had decided to take a short break; he'd invited Hogwarts' Professor of Divination, Sybil Trelawney, to take tea with him. Although Dumbledore had originally hired her because he'd witnessed her one genuine prophecy, he was well aware that she was really a dreadful old fraud, and he knew better than to take her histrionics seriously.

So he smiled affably at Sybil when she clattered into his office, festooned with bangles and beads, smelling of lavender, wittering away at him: 'I have Seen that you are weary and troubled, Headmaster. It was wise of you to ask for my advice. But I must warn you, if I were to give you a glimpse into the veiled mysteries of the future it could be dangerous for you; many are those who have been driven mad by the cruel fates, seeking to change the destinies that have been plotted out for them. My dear Headmaster, do not let that happen to you!'

'I'm happy to see you too, Sybil,' Dumbledore said brightly, motioning for her to take a seat and pouring her a cup of tea. 'You really must come down from your tower more often. I remember saying to Professor McGonagall the other day how much we've missed your scintillating conversation at the staff table at mealtimes.'

Sybil blushed, saying: 'Oh no, I couldn't. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the school clouds my inner eye.'

'How are your students this year?'

Shaking her head, Sybil sighed forlornly and said: 'I am afraid that only a few of them show any signs of genuine talent. It is a Gift granted to but a few. The majority of students this year simply lack the capacity, and there really is nothing I can teach them, even if they do try so hard, poor dears.'

There was a lengthy pause while Dumbledore tried to force his mind to accept the idea of students "trying hard" in Divination classes. He knew that far too many students picked Divination as one of their third-year electives because it was regarded as a soft subject.

'Of course, it is difficult for me,' Sybil said loftily. 'I have foreseen what will come and I already know the students that will fail their OWLs, and there is nothing I can do to avert their fates. I have foreseen heartaches and crises for all of them- it is a cruel world we live in- but most difficult of all is to know that one of them has not long to live!'

She pronounced that last sentence as if its dramatic weight should have sent Dumbledore reeling back in a daze. Instead, he suppressed a groan. Sybil Trelawney had predicted the death of one student per year since she'd starting teaching at Hogwarts, and to his knowledge none of them had died yet, some of them enjoying remarkable good luck and robust health. It was a gruesome and morbid habit of hers and he wished she'd give it a rest.

'Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that,' he said cheerfully.

'Headmaster, really! I thought that you, at least, would treat this matter with the gravity it deserves!'

'Oh? I rather thought I had,' Dumbledore murmured, and then he swiftly changed the subject before Sybil could ask him what he meant by that: 'I've been checking through your budgetary reports and everything seems to be in order, but I wondered if you had any comments to make?'

Somewhat miffed, Sybil took a few sips of her tea and said: 'Erm. Let me think.'

He waited tolerantly while she ruminated. He waited for a couple of minutes. Then he realised that something very strange was happening; Sybil had gone rigid in her seat, her eyes were gazing off into the distance and her mouth was hanging open.

He had seen this before; this was what had happened that one time she had made a genuine prophecy, but he had to be sure that she wasn't faking it. He gently brushed the edges of her mind with his Legilimency, and he found no intelligence there. Something else had taken control of the body of Professor Sybil Trelawney.

She spoke, in a harsh voice quite unlike her own: _'This is the year of the turning worm. A man who has nothing left must choose between life and death. This year, a man's pain, hatred and shame must come to an end, in life or in death; one way or the other.'_

Then her head rolled back in her armchair and she began to snore. Dumbledore stayed rigidly still in his seat; he thought it might be dangerous to wake her. Fortunately he was saved the trouble of having to do anything when Sybil suddenly jerked awake, taking a sort of snuffling breath, glancing around blearily.

'Oh! I'm so sorry, Albus!' she said, red with embarrassment. 'I fell asleep. I must have been tired, haha- I've been overworking recently, yes, that's it-'

'Sybil, you just made a Prophecy,' Dumbledore said.

Sybil looked torn between her delight at this news and her urge to protest that she'd done nothing of the sort and the Headmaster must have been mistaken. 'Really? What did I say?'

Dumbledore repeated the Prophecy back to Sybil and she looked confused by it. 'I wouldn't take it too seriously, Albus,' she said with a hearty laugh. 'I've made much better predictions than that doggerel!'

'Even so, I must inform the Department of Mysteries,' Dumbledore said, inwardly groaning when he thought about how much more paperwork that would involve.

'And I must be heading back to my tower,' Sybil trilled. 'Time is creeping on. Until we meet again, may fair fortune be yours, my dear Headmaster.'

'Goodbye, Sybil,' Dumbledore said distractedly, scraping the bottom of his pot of floo powder to be sure he had enough. When he turned around, Sybil was gone and he was left alone.

He tossed a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace, said 'Ministry of Magic' and flooed over there. A short while later he'd made his way to the Department of Mysteries and was explaining himself to the first Unspeakable he found there, a sad-faced man with sallow skin and a sepulchral voice.

There was some paperwork to fill in, standard procedure, he'd been through it before and he knew exactly what to write. Then he was led to the Hall of Prophecy where they made a record of the Prophecy, an orb of spun glass, plucking the details from Dumbledore's mind in much the same way as he had poured his memories into a Pensieve. Then he had to leave the room while the Unspeakables placed stringent anti-theft spells on the new Prophecy record and he wasn't allowed to stay and watch how it was done. Then there was some more paperwork to fill in.

'Thank you for taking the time to do this,' the dour Unspeakable said dolefully. 'You've been a big help.'

When that was done, he flooed back to his office and sank into a soft and welcoming armchair. Soon, his eyelids drooped and he began to doze... and then the gargoyle that guarded the stairs up to his office informed him- for the seventh time- that Remus Lupin and Severus Snape were both waiting to speak with him.

'Send them in,' he sighed, dragging himself to his feet. He had to present his usual aura of calm and dignified authority, no matter how he felt, and it took him a moment to get it right. Belatedly, he recalled the names of the two people that he'd just told the gargoyle to send in to see him: Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. But they fiercely disliked one another and had done ever since they were schoolboys together; the old rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin was the root cause.

What had happened? Why had they both come to see him at the same time? What reason could they have? Had been there been another fight between them? Were they going to ask him to mediate their dispute?

He groaned.

A few seconds later, Severus Snape entered the room, with Remus Lupin following just a few footsteps behind.

'Ah, Severus, dear boy, to what do I owe this pleasure?' said Dumbledore. 'Remus, I had not expected to see you again so soon, but this is indeed a welcome surprise. What can I do for you?'

Snape was pale and bloodless and he looked quite unwell, but his jaw was set in an attitude of unyielding determination. Dumbledore was struck by a sense of recognition- when had he last seen men wearing an expression like the one Snape was wearing now? Ah yes, it was back in the war; men who were resolved to sell their lives as dearly as possible; men who would 'do' or die.

Lupin looked as shabby and unhealthy as Dumbledore remembered him, but his amiable good nature had completely vanished; the unaccountably grim expression on his face was a mirror of Snape's.

They both looked at Dumbledore as if he was a stranger. Dumbledore had offered his hand for Snape to shake, but Snape ignored it.

Dumbledore felt a sick feeling of apprehension welling up inside him. He lowered his hand.

'What is this about?' he asked, in a quiet voice devoid of the exuberant and jolly tone he'd used before.

'Harry Potter,' Snape said without preamble.

'We know where he is and how he's been treated,' Lupin explained. 'And we want to know: why have you allowed this to happen?'

It occurred to Dumbledore that by far the easiest solution would be to go for his wand and try to _Obliviate_ the two of them while he had the element of surprise. He was immediately ashamed that that had been his first impulse; it had been an evil thought, unworthy of him; that was not the man he wanted to be.

'Ah yes? So you've seen him, then?' he sighed.

'I have.' Lupin nodded.

'I assume that Arabella Figg told you?'

'Yes. She's a nice old lady.' Lupin scowled at Dumbledore. 'And you forced her to watch Harry Potter being neglected and abused. How could you?'

'I hardly think it can be called "_abuse_",' Dumbledore began, playing for time. He was racking his thoughts, preparing his arguments, thinking of how he could make them understand.

For a moment, Lupin was so overcome with anger that he couldn't speak; he held his head in his hands and made an incoherent noise of seething rage. Snape took it upon himself to maintain the offensive while Lupin was thus incapacitated:

'Headmaster, Harry Potter has been half-starved, made to work like a slave, denigrated and despised and made to feel like a worthless human being, and forced to sleep every night locked in a cupboard.' Snape folded his arms and sneered at Dumbledore. "I don't know what definition of "abuse" you're using, but might I suggest that you procure a more up-to-date dictionary?'

'And how do you know any of that is true?'

Snape hesitated, just for an instant. 'Lupin told me.'

'Aha,' Dumbledore said, with a sigh and a smirk.

'No, you can't do that!' Lupin yelled furiously. 'How dare you try to use our old enmity to drive a wedge between us? How dare you try to distract from the real issue? This is about Harry!'

A flicker of realisation passed over Snape's face, and he glared at Dumbledore. An expression of loathing and hostility twisted his face. He stood together with Lupin, side by side, and they glowered at Dumbledore for a moment.

'I must say that I'm delighted to see that you two have finally reached some agreement,' said Dumbledore, at last. 'Although I wish you weren't united against _me_.'

'Stop stalling, Dumbledore,' Snape gritted. 'Answer the question: why did you let this happen to Harry?'

Dumbledore hesitated for long enough that he saw Snape's impatience once again flare into anger. 'Alright,' he said quickly, before Snape could berate him for it. 'I placed Harry Potter with the Dursley family because he is safe there. His mother's sacrifice suffused him with a power that keeps him safe from all the dark forces leagued against him, a protection he sorely needs. And that protection will continue for as long as he stays with his mother's family.

'Yes, the Dursleys are reluctant to have Harry in their house, and they don't treat him well, but that is a small price to pay if it will keep him alive. 'Unhappy' is better than 'dead', after all.'

Snape burst out laughing; insincere laughter tinged with mockery and despair and, towards the end, it sounded almost like he was sobbing. 'Oh, Headmaster,' he said, gasping for breath. 'Such a clever plan: ensure that Harry is never put in danger by traumatising him so badly that he'll be unable to function in normal society. Marvellous! I never would have thought of it myself... because I'm not an _idiot_.'

'Did you ask Harry if this was what he wanted?' Lupin said. 'Did you consult with anyone or did you just take it upon yourself to enact this great plan?'

'I convinced Hagrid and Minerva McGonagall that it was the best possible course of action to take.'

Snape grimaced. Hagrid thought the world of Dumbledore and he would have no doubts that the wise old Headmaster knew what was best. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand... well, he would have expected her to be far less easily persuaded.

'Yes, and I'm sure you had Mrs. Figg convinced that it was the right thing to do, until she saw what the Dursleys were doing to poor Harry,' said Lupin astutely. 'Did you ever invite Hagrid or Professor McGonagall to check up on Harry so they could see the results of your great plan?'

'The Dursleys requested that they be left alone, in peace. I thought it best to comply with their request.'

'They don't like magic,' Lupin remembered. Mrs. Figg had told him that. She had told him a lot about the Dursleys, to his mounting incredulity and horror. 'They don't like anything that isn't normal, and proper, and neat, and in its place.'

'Worse and worse,' Snape muttered.

For a moment, there was a lull in the conversation while both sides marshalled their arguments ready for the next assault.

'Headmaster, the fabled 'Boy Who Lived' has been abused by his muggle relatives,' Snape said, when he'd had time to think it through. 'What if the Daily Prophet were to find out about this, for example? It would be just like the worst days of the witch-hunts. The most bigoted purebloods would feel smug and justified in hating muggles and muggleborns. Moderates such as Arthur Weasley would be made to feel foolish. Muggleborns would be stereotyped as being just as bad as the Dursleys.

'You and I both know that not all muggles or muggleborns are the same, but there are those who are proud of their ignorance, glad of any excuse to persecute those they think are inferior. It could cause disastrous damage to the fabric of the British Wizarding World; tensions that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or someone like him, could use to tear it apart once again.'

'Then it's just as well that they won't find out,' said Dumbledore. 'After all, you won't tell them, will you?'

'Can you be sure of that?' said Snape grimly. 'Perhaps I'll tell Lucius Malfoy. I think he's keen to re-legalise muggle hunting.'

It was an empty threat and Dumbledore didn't bother to dignify it with a response.

Lupin was frowning.

'Is there more to this?' he asked. 'What will happen when Harry is old enough to come to Hogwarts?'

'Harry will come to Hogwarts, yes,' Dumbledore assured him. 'He has already exhibited strong accidental magic.'

'Alright, so when Harry is eleven years old, he can come to Hogwarts. I'm sure he'll be very happy here and he'll never want to go back to the Dursleys.' Lupin gave Dumbledore a significant look. 'What will happen during the summer holidays?'

'It is vital that Harry return to the Dursleys for at least a few weeks of his summer holidays so that the blood wards will be renewed.'

'No. That's ridiculous,' Snape said flatly. 'No.'

'That does sound like an exercise in pointless cruelty, Dumbledore,' said Lupin.

'Why can't Harry live in Hogwarts all year round? Won't he be safe here?'

Dumbledore smiled wistfully. 'Harry will have a wonderful time at Hogwarts, and he'll make so many friends and he will achieve so much. But he won't be safe. Hogwarts has never been an especially safe place.'

'I don't see why not,' Snape scowled. 'This castle is as well warded as any other building in Wizarding Britain. The Dark Lord himself didn't dare come here even at the height of his power. Why shouldn't Harry Potter be as safe here as he would be anywhere else?'

'Why don't we bring him here right now?' Lupin suggested.

'He's seven years old!' said Dumbledore.

Snape smiled bitterly. 'He could live and sleep in the kitchens. None of the students would have to know. It would be just like the Dursleys' home for him. Except the house-elves would adore him and stuff him full of treats-'

'Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing,' Lupin added. 'I think he deserves a few treats.'

'-so, nothing like the Dursleys' home, in fact,' Snape finished.

Dumbledore chuckled and wiped a tear from his eyes. 'A fine joke,' he said, smiling broadly.

'It's not a joke,' Snape sighed. He took a deep breath. 'It's like this: we demand that Harry Potter be removed from the custody of the Dursleys and given over to a family who will give him the loving, caring, happy childhood he deserves.'

'Which family did you have in mind?'

Snape gave a short, bleak laugh. 'It may interest you to know that it was Lupin who suggested giving Harry over to the Malfoys as "the lesser of two evils". I think his exact words were "at least they wouldn't starve him or lock him in a tiny cell or encourage their son to beat him".'

Dumbledore was appalled and he made his feelings clear: 'That's a terrible idea! Lucius Malfoy would hand Harry over to the Dark Lord the moment it became convenient for him to do so!'

'Perhaps,' Snape shrugged. He hadn't seriously been suggesting the Malfoys as Harry's new foster parents; he'd known that Dumbledore would never permit it. He wasn't sure if he agreed with Dumbledore's assessment of Lucius Malfoy, but that was irrelevant to the point he was trying to make. 'But isn't it interesting that that was still considered as an improvement over living with the Dursleys?'

'What about Ted and Andromeda Tonks?' Lupin suggested. 'Andromeda is Harry's distant cousin, just like her sister, Narcissa Malfoy; so she should have just as good a claim as the Malfoys-'

Not quite, Snape thought. If it came to a challenge in the courts, both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy could claim to be related to Harry by blood (although Lucius Malfoy was a much more distant relative to Harry than Narcissa was). Whereas Ted Tonks was muggleborn, and even if (by some convoluted mess of genealogy) he was in fact related to a pureblood wizarding family, his status as a first generation wizard would count against him.

But 'who is most closely related to him?' was not the only factor that would decide which Wizarding family got custody of Harry, if it came to that.

'I've heard nothing but good things about the Tonks family,' Lupin said, although he admitted ruefully: 'Actually, I haven't heard very much about the Tonks family, but didn't they provide safe houses for the Order of the Phoenix during the war?'

Dumbledore affirmed that it was so.

'Their daughter, Nymphadora, is currently a student at this school,' said Snape. The faint trace of a smile touched his lips. 'A third year Hufflepuff; frightfully clever; gifted; brash-' He smirked. 'With a name like that, who can blame her? Yes, I think she'd make a fine older sister for Harry if we were to support the Tonks family in fostering him-'

'Maybe we should ask them if it's what they want, first.'

'Probably a good idea,' Snape conceded.

'Gentlemen,' Dumbledore said in a jaded, formal tone. Snape and Lupin both turned to face him with expressions of wariness and distrust. 'I have just one question I'd like you to answer: why should I allow you to do any of this? Why would I let you derail my carefully-laid plans?'

'You mean you don't want to set things right?' Snape snapped.

'You mean you won't help us?' Lupin said forlornly. He still clung to his childish faith in Dumbledore as a figure of infinite benevolence, goodness and wisdom.

'Just answer the question,' Dumbledore said tiredly.

'We're choosing between doing what is right and what is easy,' Snape said, parroting one of the Headmaster's favourite sayings. The coldness in his voice would have made a winter night feel like a sauna by comparison. 'It has never been a choice between 'let Harry die' and 'let Harry be abused by his relatives'. There are other alternatives available to us.

'It will be difficult-' He shrugged unconcernedly '-we'll just have to work extremely hard. We will give Harry the happy childhood he deserves _and_ we'll make sure he survives the experience.'

Neither Lupin nor Snape saw the ghost of a smile that crossed Dumbledore's face.

'And what if I decided to stop you?' Dumbledore said. 'What would you do?'

No one moved. Dumbledore stood still as a stone, and waited. Lupin and Snape were almost at the point of going for their wands, expecting at any moment to have to defend themselves; it was a fight they could not possibly win; they hesitated; perhaps Dumbledore had been joking; a joke in horrible bad taste, yes, but it was a joke, right?

'I have to do this,' Lupin said, his mouth dry. 'It doesn't matter what you say- or what anyone says- or who tries to stop me. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do everything I can to help Harry.'

Snape was as pale as a corpse. All the blood had drained out of his face.

'I swore an oath that I'd protect the son of Lily and James Potter. From you, if necessary,' he said; it was a mark of how focussed he was that he forgot to grimace when he pronounced James's name.

'My, how the worm has turned,' Dumbledore said softly. He had brought to mind the Prophecy that Sybil had made earlier that day. It was something he must contemplate in greater depth when he had more time, but it occurred to him that either Snape or Lupin would make a good candidate for the subject of the Prophecy, the "man who has lost everything".

Of course, Snape was a much more likely candidate than Lupin was; Lupin didn't have very much to begin with and he didn't seem to mind, and Lupin had never let himself be defined by "pain, hatred and shame".

But what was that about a "choice between life and death"? He hoped that Snape would never consider taking his own life! One of the things he most admired about Snape was his stubborn refusal to give in, even in the face of terrible troubles and tragedies and the weight of the world bearing down on him. Perhaps the "choice between life and death" was more metaphorical than that.

Like most Prophecies, it was probable that it would make sense only after it had come to pass, which made it fairly useless. Really, Divination was a load of old crystal balls!

'You will do your best,' Dumbledore decided. 'I won't stop you. But I warn you: Harry Potter's life is not something I am prepared to gamble with. Endanger him and you will have to answer to me.'

'Understood,' Snape said curtly. He reached into his pocket and drew out a long roll of parchment. He gave it to Dumbledore.

'I hereby officially tender my resignation from my position as Potions Master of this school,' he said in a mock-formal tone. 'It's for the best.'

'Severus, this is so sudden!' said Dumbledore, shocked. 'You can't leave now! Think of the disruption this will cause to the students!'

'Yes, I have thought about it,' said Snape. 'I've taken the liberty of preparing a shortlist of people who could take over as Hogwarts's Potions Master.' He pulled out of his pocket a stack of clippings from magazines and handed them over.

Dumbledore glanced at them briefly, just long enough to confirm that they were articles detailing the accomplishments of Potions experts from around the world.

'Any one of these people would do an excellent job,' Snape said, 'better than I have.'

'But you've been doing so well these past few months!' Dumbledore protested.

'So you admit that I was doing badly before?' Snape said coldly. He sighed. 'Headmaster, I am willing to stay at Hogwarts until the end of the week or until you find a replacement, whichever comes soonest. After that, I am resigning, make no mistake.'

'Is that your final word on the subject?'

'Yes, it is.'

Dumbledore thumbed through the stack of magazine clippings. 'Ah. I might have to ask you to stay on a bit longer, depending on how soon I can contact some of these people, and whether they'll consent to come here for interview.' He frowned. 'I doubt if they'll all be willing to travel abroad to seek work, even if they haven't got jobs already. Give me another couple of weeks, until the 21st?'

'That's fine,' said Snape. He recognised that he had to make some concessions; Dumbledore was being fairly reasonable, after all.

'Was there anything else?' Dumbledore asked, looking from Snape to Lupin, who had been thoughtfully silent during this last part of the conversation.

'We can help Harry Potter?' Lupin said, cocking his head to one side, looking at Dumbledore as though he feared he might have misunderstood. 'You'll let us do that?'

'Yes, you are both clever men with the best of intentions,' Dumbledore smiled benignly. 'I feel confident that I can leave this problem in your capable hands. I look forward to seeing what you'll do.'

He decided against giving them another warning about endangering Harry's life. They were sensible men and they would do nothing reckless, he hoped. They would draw up their plans and carefully consider the risks they were taking. He wished them good luck.

'Actually, I do have a small favour to ask,' Lupin said embarrassedly. 'I fear I might be turfed out of my lodgings this week, and I really don't want to be wandering the streets at night as a werewolf. Might I make use of the Shrieking Shack, this Thursday, during the full moon?'

'Yes, of course, Remus,' Dumbledore assured him. 'You don't have to ask. Were you afraid I might refuse?'

Lupin flushed, murmuring an apology.

'Well, gentlemen, if that really is all, I think it's time I bade you farewell,' Dumbledore said, ushering them towards the door. 'Remus, it's been a pleasure to see you again, and I hope you manage to sort things out with your landlord so you won't be made homeless this week. Snape, I will inform the other members of staff of your resignation during the staff meeting on Wednesday. You will continue to work as Potions Master until the 21st of this month, is that agreed?'

'Yes, I said so, didn't I,' Snape muttered.

'In that case, it only remains for me to wish you the best of luck in your future endeavours, both of you,' Dumbledore said, shaking hands with one after the other. 'Goodbye then, gentlemen.'

After they were gone, Dumbledore wanted to collapse into his armchair and sleep until the following morning, but he forced himself to feed and play with pet phoenix, Fawkes, instead. He stroked Fawkes's iridescent plumage while he was lost in his thoughts.

It was a hard thing for Albus Dumbledore to admit that he had made a mistake. He was older and wiser than almost everyone; he had the benefit of a century of experience; he was incredibly intelligent and his knowledge was vast. But he was not infallible, and that was something he had to keep in mind. That was a harsh lesson he had learned many years ago, had hammered into him by the death of his sister, but it was one he had to be reminded of from time to time. Pride had a lustre that made it hard to resist.

He was sickened that it had to be pointed out to him that he had made a choice that was shameful and cowardly. Even when Mrs. Figg had told him of what Harry was suffering, he had convinced himself of the rightness of leaving Harry with the Dursleys; even if there was some unpleasantness, it was a suitable way to ensure that Harry grew up safe and anonymous, without having his ego swelled to ludicrous proportions by the adulation of the Wizarding World. He had tried to tell himself that the Dursleys' behaviour wasn't his responsibility; he couldn't be blamed for what other people did to their families, could he?

He had been lying to himself, making pathetic excuses. He admitted that now. He had been blind to the countless flaws in his great plan.

And then when Lupin and Snape came to him today, he'd seen sorrow, rage and disappointment written in their faces, and it had sorely hurt him. He had come to an uncomfortable realisation; that he was wrong and they were in the right. He had heard their arguments, their passionate concern for Harry's welfare, and seen their willingness to endure anything if it was for the good of Lily and James Potter's son. They had persuaded him.

Part of him had wanted to be persuaded. He must have known, deep down, that what was being done to Harry was wrong, that Harry deserved better from the people who had promised to look after him. But he was an old man, and set in his ways, and- he was ashamed to admit this, even to himself- if Snape and Lupin hadn't come to him, if no one had persuaded him, he would have let things carry on just the same as they ever had since Harry went to live with the Dursleys.

It had been a joy to see Lupin and Snape, formerly implacable enemies, setting aside their differences, working together for the good of the boy they both cared about; if he'd known they would make such a formidable partnership, Dumbledore would have found a way to make it happen years ago. He had not thought that anything could rouse Snape out of his pit of misery, but the Boy Who Lived had been the catalyst for a great many things without ever having been aware of them.

There was something to be said for youth and passion. Snape and Lupin were both young, energetic men; their conversation had been a hailstorm of ideas for how they could successfully achieve their stated goals of giving little Harry Potter a better life and a loving family, and they'd left Dumbledore feeling clapped-out and ancient.

He was not used to acknowledging that anyone else might be able to find a superior solution to a problem; he often felt like he had to take the problems of the Wizarding World into his own hands because there was no one else capable; it felt odd and humbling to entrust a matter of this importance to Snape and Lupin. It seemed like only yesterday that they had both been tiny little first-year boys, shy and scraggy and dripping wet as they came in out of the rain.

Where did the time go? Why had he let things slide through his hands? How had he let things come to this?

He fed the Phoenix a few dead mice while he mused: 'Am I a bad person, Fawkes?'

* * *

><p><em>Note: Well, is he a bad person? Please post a review if you've enjoyed this story and you'd like to encourage me to continue. Like many fanfic writers, I thrive on reviews.<em>


	4. Preliminaries

_Disclaimer: If I owned the Harry Potter-verse I would never have to work again. But I don't. It belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. This is a work of fanfiction, I make no money from it, I just want to play in this wonderful sandbox._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: Preliminaries<strong>

They left Dumbledore's office in complete silence.

Snape didn't know what to feel. He was tense and nervous, excited and confused; in just a few weeks he would be leaving Hogwarts! It had been his home and his prison for most of his life. And soon he would be free. It was a scary prospect.

Lupin felt dizzy and sick. He took a few faltering footsteps and worried that at any moment he might fall. Had he really dared confront Dumbledore like that? Had he really been ready to fight him (even though it would have been a worthless and meaningless gesture) for Harry's sake?

Yes. Yes he had. Wow.

He had been so charged up with restless energy that it took him some time to calm down afterwards. His heart was pounding and he was still having to take deep breaths even after they'd descended the stairs and passed the gargoyle that guarded the entrance.

'What's the matter with you?' said Snape. The sneer was gone from his voice even if he didn't seem particularly concerned.

'I'm fine,' Lupin mumbled.

Snape looked him up and down. 'Hmm.'

After a moment's thought, he said: 'I have a bottle of Calming Draught in my office. Er... after that excitement, I could certainly do with a few spoonfuls. Would you care to join me, Lupin?'

'I'd be happy to,' Lupin said gratefully.

First, Snape made sure to transfigure the padded armchair back into a normal school chair and replace it in the nearby classroom. It had served its purpose well and there was now no need to leave it lying around.

They walked through the castle corridors and hallways and down into the dungeons until they reached Snape's office. By the time they finally got there Lupin felt quite considerably calmer, but he was glad of a small dose of Calming Draught.

It was getting quite late in the evening. Only a few students were still loitering in the corridors; the rest were making sure to go back to their dorms before curfew. Lupin's exhaustion was catching up with him. He'd gotten hardly any sleep last night or the night before; he'd been too angry and excited after what Mrs. Figg had told him, and then by what he'd seen at the Dursleys' home on Sunday; he had been anxious and furious and eager to do something to help Harry.

Adrenaline had fuelled his activities for too long, but now he had no reserves left; he felt deadened and washed-out. He thanked Snape when he was offered a seat, sat down and tried not to fall asleep.

'Three weeks,' Snape murmured. 'What can I do in three weeks?'

It was a rhetorical question. Lupin understood what he meant: there were nearly three weeks left until the 21st of November, the date on which it was agreed that Snape could leave Hogwarts. Although Snape didn't really expect an answer, Lupin gave him one: 'We could make a start.'

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. 'Agreed,' he said, after a moment. 'I certainly want to rescue Harry as soon as possible. Within three weeks...?' He grimaced a bit. 'It's possible,' he said with uncharacteristic optimism.

An idea struck him: 'Lupin, can you take me to where the Dursley house is? I'd like to see Harry for myself.' He hastened to add: 'It's not that I don't trust you-'

'Yes, I know,' said Lupin, wishing that Snape hadn't felt the need to add that last bit; it was an uneasy reassurance. 'We can walk to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds and I can take you there soon as you like.'

'Shall we do that now?' said Snape impatiently. He'd seen Lupin about to drop off to sleep and he first wanted to get a few things done this evening.

'Might as well get on with it,' Lupin agreed. It took him a tremendous effort to get up out of his seat. 'We can walk and talk.'

As they again headed off into the winding castle maze, Lupin explained the contribution he thought he might make while Snape was still stuck here at Hogwarts: 'I'll go to the Ministry of Magic and check with a few legal experts, find out what we'd be up against if we tried to find Harry a foster family in the Wizarding World, see if there are any precedents we could use.'

'Have you seen the Potters' will?' Snape asked. He had the spark of an idea in his mind, but he needed more.

Lupin hesitated. 'I was there when it was read out,' he said. 'I know what was in it, but I've not seen it, not exactly.'

'That's no good,' Snape said. 'Ask if you can look at the will, the actual physical document; read through it carefully, every part of it.'

'I suppose I can do that. What will it achieve?'

'I'm a Legilimens,' said Snape. 'With your permission, I can enter your mind and search your memories.' Actually, he didn't need Lupin's permission for that, but it would have been impolite to say so. 'Get a clear memory of the Potters' will and we can study it at leisure.'

He thought it unlikely that they could find anything in the will that they could build a case around; neither he nor Lupin was an expert in law; but they could investigate, and they could obtain the services of a lawyer if they felt it was an avenue worth pursuing.

There was at least one obvious question that had to do with the Potters' Last Will and Testament, which Snape felt sure Lupin would be able to answer: 'Was it Lily and James's intention that Harry should live with the Dursleys in the event of their deaths?'

Lupin heard the harsh edge to Snape's voice but he was tactful enough not to say anything about it. He answered the question, truthfully: 'No, they wanted Harry to be raised by Sirius Black.'

Snape shuddered. Sirius Black had been James Potter's best friend, a ruthless, charming man who had been a secret Death Eater. At last, he had revealed his true colours by betraying the Potters to their deaths, and then murdering thirteen people in a fit of pique after his Dark master was defeated by little Harry Potter.

He noticed that Lupin seemed a little ashamed even at the mention of the name; Lupin had been a friend of Sirius Black as well. In fact, it was Sirius Black who had concocted the plan to lure Snape into a place where he could be murdered or maimed by Lupin, who was transformed into a rampaging werewolf at the time and could not possibly be held liable for his actions.

Sirius Black had been very good at convincing people he wanted to like and trust him; even Dumbledore had been fooled. But, with the benefit of hindsight, Black's depravity had been apparent all along. Snape had never been deceived by Black's affable façade, but he couldn't honestly say that that was because he was more insightful than anyone else; rather, it was because Black had never wanted anything from him, so Black hadn't bothered to charm him. Instead, Black had bullied him without mercy.

'I knew that,' he said hoarsely, dragging himself back through the mists of memory. 'Who was the Potters' second choice?'

'I don't know,' Lupin frowned. 'I don't know that they had a second choice.'

'Well, find out, won't you?'

They had left the castle and they were walking along the path to Hogsmeade. The air was chill and stark, this evening. The sun had gone down and the sky was getting dark.

'I also thought I should investigate the Tonks family in more detail,' Lupin said. 'If we're still considering them as Harry's future foster family; are we?'

'Nothing has been decided yet. We can explore the options.' Snape shrugged. 'It's a possibility.'

'Very well,' Lupin nodded. 'What will you do with your three weeks?'

'I can't leave the castle for any great length of time, but I thought I could start brewing some potions that may be of use to us,' said Snape. 'I have Veritaserum sufficient for our needs. I thought Polyjuice Potion and my own Traceable Paste and Potions of Non-Detection-'

Lupin knew that Veritaserum was a powerful truth serum. And he recognised the name 'Polyjuice Potion'. Spies on both sides had used it to great effect during the war, but it was highly illegal, and he hoped that no one would discover that Snape was brewing it in his office. He didn't recognise the names of the other two potions, so he asked Snape for more information.

'I invented them,' said Snape. 'The Potion of Non-Detection is my preferred alternative to an Invisibility Cloak or a Disillusionment Charm. Not only does it make whoever drinks it blend into the background, it also muffles any sounds he or she makes, masks the scent and ensures that no footprints are left behind.'

'Useful,' Lupin said admiringly. He noted the pleasure in Snape's voice when he was talking about Potions; even if he couldn't stand teaching the subject, Potions had always been Snape's passion.

'Yes, it is.' Snape smirked. 'I thought about naming it 'the Undetectable Potion', but I thought that might be tempting fate; I heard about the troubles Flourish and Blotts had with the Invisible Book of Invisibility.'

'What about the Traceable Paste?' said Lupin.

'I thought we might use it to keep track of Harry, if we had to,' Snape said with a slight frown. 'The difficulty is in administering it.'

He explained all about the Traceable Paste: 'When the mixture is in its final stages, I stir it with a wand, mutter an incantation and choose an activation phrase. After that, when I'm holding the wand and I say the activation phrase, the wand will point me in the direction of the paste, wherever it can be found. If I've smeared the paste over more than one thing, the wand will point me to the first one, then the next, and then the next, and so on.

'I brew it in tiny amounts and use it sparingly; it can get confusing, otherwise. Also, I need to clean up my cauldron and any equipment I've used very carefully afterwards, as I'm sure you can imagine. Even so, it could be very useful, under the right circumstances.'

'Can it be ingested?' Lupin wanted to know.

'None of the ingredients are poisonous, so it shouldn't do any harm,' Snape said. 'But the paste could not survive being digested, not with its usefulness intact.'

They had walked to the very edge of the grounds, beyond the furthest extent of the wards that prevented apparition into or out of Hogwarts. They both stopped; this should be far enough.

'Before we go any further, there's something I have to know,' Snape said, moistening his lips; he looked nervous and unsure of himself, for a moment. 'Sirius Black tried to kill me: he lured me to where I could be ripped apart while you were transformed into a savage werewolf. I'm sure he thought it was a splendid joke.'

He sneered. 'Please, tell me: did you know about this beforehand? Were you in on the joke?'

Lupin looked like he was about to faint. 'I really had nothing to do with it,' he said. 'Believe me, Snape, I was horrified when I found out. I didn't speak to Sirius for months afterwards.'

'But you were still friends with him,' said Snape.

'Yes, eventually,' Lupin nodded. He felt awfully weary; he wished he could just collapse to the ground and lie there until sleep claimed him. Unconsciousness would have been a welcome relief. 'He could be so charming. He knew how to worm his way back into my good graces... I couldn't stay angry with him forever.'

'Hmmph.'

'Snape, I swear that I knew nothing about Sirius's "joke". I would have stopped him if I had known,' said Lupin. 'You weren't one of my favourite people back then, but that doesn't mean I would have wanted to see you maimed or murdered.'

'Very well,' Snape decided. He would take Lupin at his word. 'I believe you.'

'Do you?' Lupin said, looking at Snape warily, wondering if this was truly an end to the matter. Snape had nursed a grudge for years; could he let go of it so easily?

'Yes,' Snape nodded.

After a moment of tense silence, he said, letting embarrassment creep into his tone: 'I'm sorry. It's just... I needed to hear you say it. If we're going to be working together, I don't want to have any doubts.'

'Alright,' said Lupin, taking a few deep breaths. He thought about saying something else, but there really was no need; he had no desire to stoke up the ashes of hostility and resentment that still were the cause of much friction between them, even after all these years. Besides, it wasn't as though Lupin was without fault in this matter; years ago, he had watched his friends bullying Snape and he'd never lifted a finger to help him or told his friends that what they were doing was wrong.

For Harry's sake, he wanted this partnership to succeed; as a team, they could achieve more than either one of them could have achieved on his own. Both men would have to compromise, find some middle ground, if they wanted it to work out.

He could see that Snape was trying his best. Actually, if they were going to be working together he wouldn't have wanted any old grudges hanging over them, so it was probably a good thing that they'd got it out in the open first. Let that be an end to it.

'I'll show you Little Whinging,' Lupin said, with a slight curl of his lip at the name. 'You can see where Harry lives.'

That was why they'd come this far; Lupin offered his hand for Side-Along Apparition and Snape took hold of it, grasped it firmly.

'I'm ready,' Snape said.

Lupin gave a little nod, focussed on the image of Little Whinging in his mind, and they Disapparated. There was the familiar feeling that they were both squashed into a tight rubber tube, and Snape gripped Lupin's hand so tightly that he might have been cutting off circulation, but they made it to their destination without mishap.

While he was trying to rid himself of the impression that his eyeballs had been forced into the back of his head, Snape glanced around the street, looking over the rows of boringly identical houses.

'This is Privet Drive,' Lupin explained. 'The Dursleys live at Number Four.'

He pointed to a house that, as far as Snape could see, had absolutely nothing to distinguish it from any of the others. It was as if someone had cast a powerful _Geminio_ spell to duplicate the same house a couple of dozen times.

Snape started towards the house before he realised that getting a glimpse of Harry Potter at this late hour was probably impossible; no doubt the Dursleys had already shoved him in the cupboard for the night.

At that thought, he felt a strong surge of anger and frustration; he was tempted to smash some of the Dursleys' plant pots and write a rude word in their exquisitely manicured lawn, just to relieve his feelings. He restrained himself with the knowledge that Harry would probably be punished for it; even there was no possibility that he could have done it, the Dursleys would still find a way to take it out on him.

'I'll come back tomorrow,' Snape said brusquely, after he'd walked up and down the street a few times, partly to let off some steam but mostly so he could memorise the location. 'You said that Arabella Figg lives near here?'

'Mrs. Figg has a house at 11, Wisteria Walk,' Lupin said. 'It's over there.' He pointed to where Privet Drive branched off.

'I should pay her a call,' said Snape. He wished he was wearing a watch. 'It's too late now-' He was reasonably sure of that point. '-so I'll drop by in the afternoon, after class, tomorrow.'

'Yes, it's late,' Lupin yawned. 'I'm going home; got to get some sleep.'

'Wait a moment,' said Snape, thinking over his plan of action for the next week or so. 'We should schedule a meeting to discuss our progress, later this week. Is Friday any good for you?'

Lupin shook his head, vehemently. 'Oh no,' he said. 'I'm not fit for anything the day after the full moon.'

'Saturday, then?'

'Saturday's better, yes.'

'Alright, come to Hogwarts on Saturday at around midday. We can have lunch in my office. We'll discuss what we've learned and decide what to do next.'

'Sounds good to me,' Lupin mumbled.

'Good night, Lupin,' said Snape, patiently. 'Sleep well.'

'G'night, Snape,' said Lupin, and vanished. The sound that marked his disappearance was a pop like someone bursting a balloon.

Snape waited for a few minutes, but he saw no twitching at the curtains of any of the houses, so he thought it likely that no one else had heard the sound or seen Lupin's Disapparition. The Statute of Secrecy would remain unbroken.

He walked up the road in search of a more secure and secret place to perform his own Disapparition. He explored a little way into Wisteria Walk; ah yes, Arabella Figg's must be the house with all the cats.

He chose a secluded place under cover of a few overhanging trees, where none of the windows of the nearby houses looked out directly onto where he was standing, and he looked around in every direction to make sure there was nobody about, and it was only then that he Apparated back to the road that joined Hogwarts with Hogsmeade.

He understood Lupin's carelessness; it was a result of excessive fatigue, and normally he would have been much more careful, of course; but still, they couldn't afford to make mistakes like that. Too much was at stake; it would be better not to risk getting the Improper Use of Magic Office involved as well. But, if it didn't happen again, there was no need to say anything more about it.

After he'd walked back to the castle, he really should go to bed and try to get some sleep; it was late; soon it would be past midnight if it wasn't already. However, he thought he might make a start on some of the potions he had mentioned to Lupin could be useful in their efforts to free Harry from the Dursleys.

Polyjuice Potion would take at least a month to prepare. Snape found that he was sincere in his desire to remove Harry to a better childhood as soon as possible, within the next few weeks if it could be done; therefore, Polyjuice Potion would not be ready in time. Nevertheless, it might be useful as part of a fallback plan; he'd prepare some, just in case.

He could have his Traceable Paste ready in a matter of hours (but he preferred to wait until he had a better idea of how it would be used; it had a somewhat limited shelf life) and the Potion of Non-Detection would take no more than a week.

He needed to replenish part of his stock of ingredients; he had enough for what he planned to do, but he didn't like to run out. He'd have to spend some time with a Mail order catalogue and a stack of forms. Wherever possible, he preferred to gather his own ingredients; it was cheaper and he enjoyed it as an excuse to get out of the castle and explore the great outdoors. But there wasn't time for that now.

When he got back to his office he decided that the first thing to do was to start stewing the lacewing flies that were part of the Polyjuice Potion. That would take some time; in fact, the 21st of November would have come and gone before it was done.

He busied himself with that for a while, and then there was nothing more he could do except let it stew, so he began the process of brewing the Potion of Non-Detection.

A few handfuls of dust were easy enough to come by. Cat hair, Belladonna and powdered Iron Pyrite he had. A Sloth Brain was a necessary but disgusting component to be added at a later stage, and he made sure that he had one available.

Before long, he had done all he could; he had to leave it to simmer for a day before he could add the next lot of ingredients. He kept count as he stirred the resultant mixture, looking down on it with some satisfaction. He'd have it ready by next Monday.

With that in mind, he sat down with a quill and some scrap parchment to start drawing up his plans.

First, he considered the possibility of straightaway going to the Dursleys and demanding that they stop their abuse of Harry. He had known Petunia Evans (now Petunia Dursley) when they both were children; she had disliked him, even then.

Snape took a moment to remember those days. He thought of Lily.

Petunia had been jealous of her sister's magical powers, and she desperately wanted to be magical as well, but it was not possible. She had been enraged and upset; Lily had told Snape about it, afterwards. At the time, Snape had been contemptuous of Petunia; he didn't care about her; he only cared about Lily.

It made Snape's blood run cold to think of how Petunia's jealousy and disappointment had turned to rage, how she had gotten her revenge with her cruelty to a defenceless child, Lily's son, Harry. Such petty, pathetic reasons for such a dreadful crime!

Petunia now wanted nothing to do with magic. She tried to pretend it didn't exist, surrounded herself with the trappings of drab, suburban normalcy. But she was still aware that there was another world out there, a world of witches and wizards, marvels and monsters; she would know what a fully-fledged wizard was capable of. She would be afraid. Severus Snape wanted her to be afraid.

Snape had no idea of who Petunia's husband was or what he looked like, but he imagined that Mr. Dursley was much like his own father, Tobias Snape, a spiteful, unreasonable, cantankerous man. Tobias Snape had made his wife and son's lives a living hell until finally he drank himself to death. Snape had thought about not bothering to attend the funeral, but he'd wanted to make sure the old bastard was definitely dead.

He felt sure that he could intimidate the Dursleys into doing as he asked; as a powerful wizard, Snape was reasonably confident that he had little to fear from a pair of muggles, no matter how cruel and vicious they might be. Nevertheless, he decided against it. He could frighten Petunia and her husband into a semblance of decent, civilised behaviour, but he couldn't force them to love Harry. They might obey the letter of his commands, but they would simply find some other way to terrorize Harry and make his life a misery.

Snape briefly considered the possibility of subjecting the Dursleys to the Imperius Curse. However, he rejected that idea almost immediately. Not only was the Imperius Curse highly illegal (Snape would be sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban if he was caught) and Dumbledore would not approve, but also it would not solve the underlying problem.

The problem was that Harry was unwelcome in the Dursleys' home, even if they saw some value in using him as a servant. The only acceptable solution (as far as Snape was concerned) was to remove Harry to a home where he would be appreciated, treated with genuine love and warmth and affection.

Also, he worried that by visiting the Dursleys he would put Harry's life in danger. How would the Dursleys react to his intrusion into their lives? What would they do when they realised their wickedness had been found out? Would their malice turn murderous? He was frightened to think what cruel intentions he'd find in their squalid little minds if he used his Legilimency on them.

He didn't know. He had to assume that people who could treat an innocent child so cruelly were capable of anything.

He hated having to wait. Now that he knew what had happened to Harry, he didn't want to wait; he felt growing frustration at having to delay doing the right thing for even a moment. Silently, he vowed to himself that he'd find a way to rescue Harry within the next few weeks, and he'd do it in such a manner that the Dursleys would never again be in a position to harm Harry.

It had to be swift, and final, and there could be no possibility of failure.

He sat for a while longer, considering the task he had set himself from every angle. He hadn't expected a sudden flash of inspiration, but he had hoped, at least, that he might put together the bare bones of a plan from the resources at his disposal.

In the end, when he could bear it no longer, he collapsed into bed.

He had a bad night. That was not unusual.

His dreams were of blood and death. He heard the desolate cry of a woman in torment. He thought he recognised Lily's voice.

_Lily..._


	5. Pride Is for Those Who Can Afford It

_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't own it. I wish I did. This is a work of fanfiction. I make no money from this._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Pride Is for Those Who Can Afford It<strong>

Remus Lupin awoke to the noise of someone pounding a fist on the door of his flat. Groggily he got out of bed and put on his dressing gown at the same time as he shouted: 'yes, who is it?'

'I've come about the rent, Mr. Lupin,' said the voice of his landlord, Mr. Gianetti.

'I don't have it,' Lupin said, pausing for a moment to take stock of the situation; he'd recovered his mental faculties by now; he remembered almost everything that had happened yesterday, even if he couldn't recall how he'd made it back home last night.

The last thing he remembered was Disapparating from Privet Drive. He winced at the memory; he realised that he had been careless, using magic without bothering to check whether he was in sight of any muggles. But he rallied with the cheering thought that the Improper Use of Magic Office hadn't caught up with him yet, so he was probably in the clear.

'I will certainly have the rent for you by the end of the week,' Lupin lied. He had no idea where he would get hold of that kind of money and anyway he had other concerns he had to deal with.

'Like I've never heard that before,' his landlord mumbled. 'Open this door, Mr. Lupin.' There was another pause and then a loud sigh. 'Please.'

Lupin pulled back the bolt and unlocked the door. Mr. Gianetti, a stocky, balding man, was outside, glaring sternly at him.

'This is to let you know, I've served you with a warning,' Mr. Gianetti said. 'Sent it by first class post three days ago- did you get it?'

Lupin stared at him with a look of blank incomprehension. 'The postman hasn't come yet, today,' he said carefully.

Mr. Gianetti sighed heavily. 'Pity,' he said. 'It's like this: I'm evicting you unless you pay the rent. I've given you the warning- you should receive it today if you haven't already- you've got two weeks to pay the rent, thereabouts, and if you don't I can get a court order.'

'Well, thank you for telling me,' Lupin said. He wondered about that. He knew it wasn't standard procedure for landlords to come around and tell their tenants in person that they were in the process of being evicted, but it occurred to him that Mr. Gianetti would look at Remus Lupin and see only an emaciated man wracked by a serious illness, not someone who could really be a threat. Or else he thought that delivering this message personally was a more honest and forthright way to do it.

He felt relieved. It seemed that Mr. Gianetti wanted to do this legally, with everything above-board, and all the correct paperwork filled in. In the past, he'd had landlords who hadn't bothered with the legal niceties. More than once he'd come home to his previous lodgings to find that the locks had been changed and his possessions had been dumped out on the kerb. It had been difficult for him to protest; he could have taken his case to the courts, tried to fight it out, but there were problems in the way of that

As a wizard, he'd spent much of his life as part of a hidden, secret world, and he didn't want anyone to pry too deeply into his background. Most other wizards, at least those who could claim purity of blood, could count on the Ministry of Magic's private army of legal experts to rally round them and protect them from any troubles they might have with the muggle courts, but Remus Lupin was a werewolf, and therefore many people in the Wizarding World shunned him, regarded him as a monster who might at any moment spread his taint to them or their children. He could expect no help there.

Some of his previous landlords had seen his reluctance to get involved with the law and used it as leverage against him, evicting him without bothering to go through the proper legal procedures. They'd forced him out of his lodgings, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't kick up much fuss. He was glad that Mr. Gianetti didn't appear to be one of those. It was one thing he didn't have to worry so much about.

'Just see that you get me my money, Mr. Lupin,' Mr. Gianetti said. 'I know you've got problems. Huh, don't we all? But I'm not running a charity here, alright?'

Lupin calculated whether he really could pay his rent arrears before the deadline. It was unlikely, particularly when he considered that more time would have passed by then; he'd have accrued more debt and he still wouldn't have a job.

He didn't want to be thinking about this now. Harry's welfare had to be his top priority.

'Alright, Mr. Gianetti,' he said non-committally. 'Thank you for your time.'

'Goodbye, Mr. Lupin,' his landlord grunted. 'I'll be in touch.'

He washed, got dressed up in robes that weren't quite as shabby as his usual attire, and put his long coat on over the top. In the kitchen he found the remains of a stale loaf of bread; it wasn't so bad if he cut the blue mouldy bits off and toasted the rest.

The postman had arrived by this point. Lupin idly flicked through the small stack of letters; more urgent bills that he didn't have a hope of paying, and the formal warning that Mr. Gianetti had told him about. He took some time to read through it; there was pretty much what he had expected. It was filled out with the grounds that his landlord had for wanting to evict him, and it was marked with the date when the Notice was issued and when it would expire, on the 17th of November.

It was a temporary reprieve.

He found himself brooding, after a moment. How had he come to this? How had he gotten to a point where he must scrimp and scrape and scrounge if he was to survive? Back at Hogwarts' school, he had been a good, well-behaved boy, except when his friends had dragged him into their wild escapades; he had been eager to do well, and he had achieved good results in his OWLs and NEWTs. He'd never imagined that, in just about a decade's time, he would be living in squalor, making a meagre living out of any opportunities that came his way, forced to lie to honest men and cheat them out of what they'd rightfully earned; well, that was what he was doing, after all; he had no intention of paying the rent.

He felt guilty about that. But what could he do? Frantically search for a job? No, he already had plans; he wouldn't abandon Harry, not now he'd found him again after so long. Borrow money from someone else? No, if he did that he'd be storing up trouble for later; he had no desire to make matters worse. Voluntarily give up the tenancy and run off into the night never to be seen again? Well, maybe, that would solve the problem from Mr. Gianetti's point of view, but it wouldn't answer Lupin's questions of where he would stay or what he was going to do.

Briefly, he imagined asking Professor Dumbledore if he could move into the Shrieking Shack full time.

He had made arrangements for what he would do today, and he was anxious to get on with it, so he made his preparations to leave; he put the keys to his flat and his (mostly empty) wallet in his pocket and, after some thought, he got the key to his Gringotts vault as well. Not that he was expecting a large sum of money to have suddenly materialised in there since the last time he looked; of course, it wouldn't hurt to check; in reality, he had realised that Gringotts bank likely had a copy of Lily and James' will and, if he wanted to take a peek at it, he would need his vault key as a form of identification.

However, as he was neither Harry Potter nor the executor of the will, the goblins might rule that he had no legal right to examine the will, in which case he would have to find some other way of getting to it, or search for another copy. He wondered if Dumbledore had a copy.

Even as he thought that, he realised that he had no real desire to involve Dumbledore in this. He wasn't sure that he trusted Dumbledore anymore. Oh, he still greatly admired Dumbledore, respected him, and knew that he was one of the best and wisest wizards the world had ever seen, but his faith in the man had been severely shaken. When he had found out what Harry Potter had suffered, all thanks to Dumbledore, Lupin had felt utterly distraught, angry and betrayed.

Dumbledore was the man who had made provisions for Lupin to go to school at Hogwarts. It was only thanks to Dumbledore that Lupin had made friends, achieved good results and qualifications at school, and for a while had some semblance of a normal life. There had been times when he thought he owed everything to Dumbledore.

It had been a tremendous source of strength and a boost to the morale of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, during the war, to believe that Albus Dumbledore had a grand plan that would see them to victory in the end. They had attributed incredible power to him, imagined him as a near-omnipotent and omniscient being, a power that the Dark Lord himself didn't dare confront directly. Now, Lupin wondered if Dumbledore had been as desperate and clueless as everybody else.

He had been terribly shocked to realise that his idol had feet of clay.

* * *

><p>Lupin Apparated to Diagon Alley and headed directly for Gringotts Wizarding Bank.<p>

Ordinarily he would have liked to stop to browse the many shops that lined the route; Flourish and Blotts was a personal favourite and he liked to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies and smile at the thought of how excited James would have been if he'd seen the new releases; but today he was in a hurry.

He saw a weedy little boy pointing and sniggering at him as he entered the great doors of the bank. No doubt his shabby, tatty robes made him look like a pauper. The little boy was probably thinking "well, he obviously doesn't have any money, so what's he doing in a bank!" Or he could have been mistaken; the little boy might have been sniggering at something else that just happened to be going on in the same general direction.

He entered the Main Hall of the bank, taking in the splendid opulence of the place. He walked over to one of the goblins sitting at one the long counters that stretched along the length of the room; the goblin hadn't seemed to be doing anything in particular until Lupin made his approach.

'I have an odd request,' he began. 'Would it be possible to speak to someone about it, in confidence, please?'

The goblin gave him a look of acute distrust. 'Explain,' he said tersely.

'I've good reason to believe that the Last Will and Testament of two of my dearest friends may not have been carried out properly,' said Lupin, speaking in an elaborately formal and polite manner suited to the nature of his mission. 'I believe Gringotts Wizarding Bank has hold of a copy of the will, therefore I want to ask permission to examine it.'

'A reasonable request,' the goblin said, after a moment's thought. 'I will take you to where you may discuss this matter with one of the Senior Managers. First, however, I must ask for your name and some form of identification.'

'My name is Remus John Lupin,' Lupin said, fishing in his coat pocket for the key to his vault, and handing it over.

'That will do nicely,' the goblin said, taking it. 'Follow me, Mr. Lupin.'

The goblin took him to the office of a Senior Manager, where he had to wait outside for a moment while the goblin went to see if the Senior Manager was available, and explained the situation to him, and then came back to tell Lupin: 'Master Grabthorn will see you now.'

He was allowed to enter the room where a squat, fat goblin with iron-grey hair was sat behind a desk upon which several piles of paperwork were neatly stacked. There was also an abacus, but Lupin couldn't imagine that Grabthorn had much use for it in the day-to-day fulfilment of his duties, not when there were so many more modern tools on hand, so he wondered if its purpose was purely ornamental.

'Mr. Lupin,' Grabthorn said in a reedy voice. 'Gemlok has explained your request to me. May I ask whose Last Will and Testament you wish to examine?'

'You may,' Lupin said. 'I know you have a copy of the Last Will and Testament of Lily and James Potter. I would like to examine it, please.'

There was a pause. During that pause he heard a sharp intake of breath from Grabthorn. Fixing Lupin with a hard and piercing stare, Grabthorn said: 'You told Gemlok that you suspect that the instructions laid down in the will might not have been followed. Do you have good reason for this suspicion?'

Lupin shifted uncomfortably. He had chosen to come to Gringotts to obtain a copy of the will because the goblins were disinterested in the affairs of wizards, but that did not mean they were uninterested or unaware of what was going on in the wider wizarding world. They were certainly aware of how Harry Potter had saved everyone from the Dark Lord, and it appeared that Grabthorn had immediately recognised the names of Lily and James Potter; well, no one had ever said that goblins were stupid.

He had considered going to the Ministry of Magic and asking after the will. One of the lesser departments at the Ministry of Magic had to do with inheritance, property laws and the rights of homeowners in the British Wizarding World, and Lupin knew that they'd have access to a copy of Lily and James' will, but there was no way he could have gone to them without attracting a lot of attention to what he was doing.

Lupin had had many bad experiences with the Ministry of Magic. Oh, he knew Arthur Weasley, Sturgis Podmore and a few others were genuinely good people and he couldn't think of anything bad to say about them, but he'd met many of the Ministry of Magic's employees who were awfully stupid and credulous, ready to believe anything the Daily Prophet said about anyone; they were bigoted, shallow and terrible gossips who couldn't be trusted to keep a secret if their lives depended on it.

He'd much rather trust to Grabthorn's professional discretion. It seemed like a much safer bet.

'Master Grabthorn, I asked to speak to you in confidence,' he said. 'Can I trust that nothing I tell you will reach the ears of anyone outside this room?'

'Yes, of course,' Grabthorn said. He looked mildly insulted that Lupin had felt the need to ask that question. 'You're being very cautious, Mr. Lupin. Why is that?'

Lupin took a deep breath. He felt tense and uneasy. 'I believe that the people acting as guardians of Harry Potter may not have his best wishes at heart. In fact, I am not sure that Lily and James would have wanted them as guardians of their child, but I have no way to find out, not unless you'll allow me to read through the will.'

'Wait here, Mr. Lupin,' Grabthorn said, getting out of his seat and waddling over to the door in the back. 'There is something I must check.'

For a few moments Lupin waited in his comfortable seat, idly glancing around the room at the framed newspaper clippings on the walls. Many of them were from the Daily Prophet and various British financial journals but a few of them were from foreign newspapers, written in languages that Lupin couldn't make sense of. It appeared that Master Grabthorn had been a renowned expert in ancient civilisations and a successful treasure hunter in his younger days and, more recently, his shrewd business investments had brought back large dividends for Gringotts.

They were the trappings of a busy and productive life, a life that Lupin might have been envious of, if he had been a man much inclined to jealousy or resentment.

Actually, Lupin considered himself fortunate that jealousy was pretty much an alien emotion to him; he'd had a hard life and he had no doubt that it would have been much harder if he'd been constantly looking around at other people and coveting what they had. He just tried to do the best he could with what little he had; what was the use in getting upset about it?

Grabthorn came back, with a file tucked under his arm, saying: 'Mr. Lupin, as a beneficiary of the Potters' Last Will and Testament, of course you have the right to examine the document. Here it is.'

He handed the file to Lupin.

'Ah, yes,' Lupin said, opening it up. 'Thank you.' He had almost forgotten that he'd been a beneficiary of the will; James had left him a quite sizeable sum of money; a shame it hadn't lasted him as long as he'd hoped it would.

'I had an idea that I might first need to obtain the permission of the executor of the will,' Lupin said, looking through the contents of the file.

'That would normally have been the case,' Grabthorn said. 'However, the executor of the will has already granted you the permissions you need.'

'Really? That was quick,' Lupin said, impressed.

'Yes,' Grabthorn nodded. 'It was done yesterday, in fact.'

Lupin paused for a moment, halfway through his reading of the first page. Suspicion had entered his mind.

'Who was the executor of the will, may I ask?' he said.

'It was Professor Albus Dumbledore,' Grabthorn said. 'Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' he added unnecessarily. 'He contacted Gringotts last night.'

'I see,' said Lupin. He felt unusually conflicted. On the one hand, he was grateful that Dumbledore had made it possible for to do the task he had set out to do but, on the other hand, he didn't like feeling that he was little more than a puppet and Dumbledore was holding his strings.

He focussed his attentions on the document in front of him. Snape had asked him to study every part of it carefully, so that the memory would be clear and sharp when Snape used his Legilimency to examine it later. There was not much on the first page, or the second page, or on the third page, that he didn't already know but he made sure to read each and every word, just in case. He smiled as he was reminded of James and Lily's friendship, how they'd tried to look after him even from beyond the grave.

There had been a sum of money for Lupin and a smaller amount for poor Peter Pettigrew, who also would have received James' old racing broom and a stash of prized Quidditch memorabilia. James had remembered that Peter had been in awe of his prowess on the Quidditch pitch; he wanted Peter to recall the good old days before the war, and he'd known that Peter would appreciate having these things to remember him by.

A few small, precious items had been left for Alice Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadowes, good friends of the Potters in the Order of the Phoenix. Grimly, Lupin thought that he'd have been surprised if any of those items had survived the explosion that had come about as a result of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat by Harry Potter. And, of those three women, only Alice Longbottom was left alive, and she had been tortured into insanity by the last of the Dark Lord's loyal supporters.

It came as news to Lupin that James Potter had left his Invisibility Cloak in Dumbledore's possession, with the condition that it be passed on to Harry "when he is old enough to use it responsibly", although the will was rather vague in defining exactly how old Harry would need to be before he was deemed sufficiently responsible; Lupin assumed that the intention was that Dumbledore should use his best judgement.

Lupin remembered that Invisibility Cloak well. The Marauders had used it many times to conceal themselves while they were making mischief. It had been a wondrous thing, far more powerful and perfect than any other Invisibility Cloak that Lupin had ever heard of, with a magic that still hadn't lost its effectiveness even though it had been made so many years ago; in fact, the cloak had been an heirloom of the Potter family since time immemorial. If Lupin had been a fanciful man, he might have imagined that the cloak was the legendary Cloak of Invisibility from Beedle the Bard's Tale of the Three Brothers but, of course, that was just an old fable.

The bulk of the estate had been bequeathed to Harry Potter, with the expectation that, if Lily and James were somehow incapable, Sirius Black would be the one to raise Harry Potter and manage his estate until he came of age. Unconsciously, Lupin found himself baring his teeth as he read that bit; the murdering traitor would have done rather well out of Lily and James' deaths, had he gotten away with it. (Actually, had he gotten away with it, their bequest would have been the least of the rewards he could have expected to receive; the Dark Lord would have given him anything he desired. Such were the wages of sin.)

At last, Lupin had reached that part of the will he was most interested in: how had Lily and James Potter intended that Harry should be raised, and by whom? Sirius Black had been the Potters' first choice, and there was no evidence in the will to show that Lily and James had ever considered anybody else except as an afterthought.

There was only a small section that detailed what should happen if Sirius was "somehow unable to carry out these directions". Someone had scribbled out what was written there so that it was almost impossible to read. With an effort, Lupin was able to decipher that Vernon and Petunia Dursley were named as the people who would look after Harry until he came of age, in the event of the Potters' untimely deaths and if Sirius couldn't take up the job.

Lupin felt a slight chill of apprehension in his stomach; he might have felt worse if it wasn't so obvious to him that Lily and James had intended to revoke that part of the will; the harsh crossings out that marred Lily's neat handwriting were meant to make it unreadable, even if it wasn't strictly legal. In the last few weeks of their lives, Lily and James had been living in fear; they had known that the Dark Lord was coming for them; no doubt they had more pressing concerns than to update a part of their will that they had thought would never be used.

He was puzzled by what he read there, and he asked Grabthorn for more details and for some clarification: 'when was this done?' and 'doesn't this invalidate the entire will?'

Grabthorn answered: 'the Potters made some changes to their will on October 22nd 1981, before they went into hiding' and 'partial revocation of a will is allowed if it is done in the presence of witnesses.'

'Who witnessed this?' Lupin asked.

'Professors Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, both of Hogwarts,' said Grabthorn.

Lupin nodded distractedly. He hadn't known that Professor McGonagall had been a witness to the Potters' will, but she had been their Head of House at Hogwarts and she had fought alongside them as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. She hadn't been a beneficiary of the will so she would have counted as a disinterested witness. It made sense.

He hadn't known much about Lily's relationship with her sister, Petunia. He hadn't gotten to know Lily very well until they both were made prefects, in their fifth year. Lily had mentioned that she had a sister once or twice, but from her tone Lupin guessed that they weren't close.

He had not given Petunia much thought until recently, since Mrs. Figg had made him aware that Petunia and her husband Vernon were Harry's legal guardians. Browsing through his recollections, he could think of many things that Lily had said to him, or that he had overheard, that he hadn't understood at the time but now he was able to put into their proper context. He remembered a time when Lily had been excited by the prospect of introducing her fiancé, James Potter, to her sister and her sister's husband. He hadn't heard anything about it after that and he hadn't given it much thought, but he'd have been willing to bet money that the meeting had gone badly.

And that wasn't the only time.

The untimely deaths of both of her parents in a car accident had left Lily distraught, stricken with grief, and only James had been able to comfort her. At the time, Lupin had assumed that this was just the natural reaction to such an awful calamity, and all he could do was to try to be there to lend his support if it was needed. But now he was racking his brains wondering if there had been more to it than that. Lily had seemed to be recovering in the run-up to the funeral; she certainly had managed to compose herself, but then when she came back from the funeral she had been in floods of tears. Lupin had thought that she had once again succumbed to grief, and yet he remembered overhearing part of a conversation between James and Lily.

James had said: 'what did Petunia say to you?' and Lupin had retreated out of the room because he'd had no intention of eavesdropping on his friends' private conversation. However, now that he had reason to think more about it, he considered what Petunia might have said. Had she said something to upset Lily at the funeral? Had she said something cruel and spiteful in an effort to hurt her sister when she was already feeling emotionally vulnerable?

In all honesty, Lupin didn't really know. It had been so long ago. He thought it possible, but it was also possible that he had misheard, or misremembered, or James could have been talking about something else entirely. And anyway, Lupin knew that he was being unfair if he imagined Petunia Dursley as a horrible person based on a few words that he barely remembered hearing; he knew that Petunia Dursley was a horrible person because of how she'd treated Harry; he didn't have to imagine what else she _might_ have done.

With all that in mind, it was easy to conjecture what might have happened: Lily was a loving and forgiving person who tried to see the best in everyone, and she would certainly have looked after the Dursleys' son as her own son if anything had happened to them. She would have gone to her sister to say her tearful goodbyes and to ask her to look after Harry if the worst happened. But there had been some disagreement. Judging by the forcefulness with which the Dursleys' names had been crossed out, Lupin would have guessed that the disagreement had been a bitter and vicious one. Lily must have realised that she definitely didn't want the Dursleys to take care of her son, so she had come back, gathered her witnesses and taken steps to destroy the part of the will that named them as Harry's possible guardians.

Underneath all the crossings out there were a couple of lines written in what he once again recognised as Lily's handwriting, even if it was a hasty, messy scrawl rather than Lily's usual fine copperplate script: "As executor of the will, Albus Dumbledore should decide how Harry is to be raised if Sirius can't."

Again, this was something that Lupin felt he had to ask Grabthorn about. He had a number of questions.

'Is this the newest copy of the will? Do the other copies of the will differ from this in any way?' He was fairly sure that the answer to those questions would be 'yes' and 'no', but he had to be sure.

'Yes, the Potters did not make any more alterations to the will after the 22nd of October, so this was their final draft,' Grabthorn said. 'All the copies of the will were linked to the master copy; therefore they would have been altered at the same time. They should all be the same.'

Lupin thought that the master copy had probably been destroyed along with the Potters' house. Obviously, the destruction of one copy did no damage to any of the others; it would have been a pretty silly system if it did.

Despite the fact that it seemed clear that Lily had changed her mind and she hadn't wanted to have Petunia and Vernon Dursley as potential guardians of Harry, Dumbledore had nevertheless taken it upon himself to hand Harry over to them. Why was that?

Was it because, as Harry's next of kin, guardianship had automatically fallen to Petunia and it didn't matter what Lily had been trying to do with her will? Had Dumbledore's only concern been Harry's safety and he had thought that Harry would be safest where he was protected by his mother's blood? Or was this Dumbledore's well-meaning but misguided attempt to heal the rift between the two sisters even though Lily was already dead?

'Professor Dumbledore was given an awful lot to do with this will,' Lupin remarked. 'He was the executor and a witness and he had to hold on to one of James' prized possessions and he had to decide who would raise Harry.'

Lily and James had put an enormous amount of power in Dumbledore's hands. They had trusted him absolutely, just as Lupin had trusted him. Even so, they had not meant to give him such power over the disposition of their estate and Harry's guardianship; it was an unfortunate consequence of how events had spiralled out of control; if Sirius hadn't turned out to be a traitor...

'That is true, yes,' Grabthorn agreed. He waited for Lupin to make his point.

'Well, was there no conflict of interests?' said Lupin. He had an idea that one of Dumbledore's many responsibilities must have clashed with some of the others. It rankled with him that he'd had no say in any of this; he had been one of Lily and James' best friends; but, at the time he'd been suspected of spying for the Dark Lord.

Grabthorn made a steeple of his long fingers and looked thoughtful. 'Albus Dumbledore was not a beneficiary of the will so he was not disallowed as a witness. There is no law to say that a witness cannot also be the executor of the will. His keeping a family artefact in trust is rather irregular, I will admit, but if he passes it on to Harry when the time comes there should be no problem. The final decision as to who should take over guardianship of any dependents is normally one of the duties of the executor, so it made little difference in this case.'

He smiled thinly. 'At least, that is wizarding law. Muggles do things rather differently.'

Lupin went back to reading the will. He was nearly finished. He was determined to do this properly, not to skip over any of it, even though he felt somewhat frustrated and bewildered. He didn't have much experience with this kind of complicated legal stuff and, at times, he'd had to struggle to make sense of it.

At last, he was done. He breathed a sigh of relief as he closed up the document and put it back into the file.

'Thank you, Master Grabthorn,' he said, handing it over to him. 'You've been a great help.'

'It was my pleasure,' Grabthorn said, with a slightly sinister smile that bared most of his teeth. 'Harry Potter's continued wellbeing is a very valuable thing. I think we can _all_ agree on that, don't you?'

Lupin nodded and murmured that it was so.

'Goodbye, Mr. Lupin,' Grabthorn said. 'Good luck with... whatever it is that you're doing.'

He called for one of the other goblins to escort Lupin back to the Main Hall. Having no further business at Gringotts, Lupin left the bank and embarked on his next task.


	6. World's Best Dad

_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't own it. I wish I did. This is a work of fanfiction. I make no money from this._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: World's Best Dad<strong>

Lupin had planned to go directly to the Ministry of Magic and research into wizarding foster families, but he would leave that until later. He'd had another idea.

He Apparated to a secluded back street near where there was a muggle library. He walked the short distance to the library and saw that it was open, so he entered the building, smiled at the lady sitting at the reception desk, and went over to browse through the library's extensive collection of back issues of newspapers. He paid particular attention to stories that had to do with cases of child abuse, all of which were front-page news. He made sure to find out what had happened after the children were removed from their abusive families, where he could.

Most wizards (even some of those who were muggle-born) were insulated from the muggle world. Theirs was a tiny, close-knit community, and few of them had any interest in what was going on outside of it. They knew next to nothing about muggles and they would have been shocked and scandalised to look at any of the major muggle newspapers and see the kinds of things that some muggles got up to on a daily basis.

Whereas Lupin had been immersed in the muggle world for most of his life; he couldn't escape it. Whether he liked it or not (on the whole, he rather liked it), he was aware of the political, cultural and sociological issues that dominated the minds of most muggles (although maybe "cultural issues" was a rather grandiose title with which to dignify questions such as "what's been going on in Coronation Street, then?" ). He understood that, whether they were magical or not, most people were pretty much the same, deep down. Almost no one liked to hear of a child being abused.

The wizarding community would be horrified to hear that Harry Potter had been treated cruelly by his relatives; there would be much soul-searching and questions would be asked, such as "how could this have been allowed to happen to the 'Boy Who Lived'?"

Few of the non-magical people in Britain would understand the significance of the name "Harry Potter" or know anything about the war he'd put an end to; instead, they'd be horrified because child abuse was wrong and a horrible thing to happen.

Lupin pored over the newspapers he had found, reading through the relevant stories and committing them to memory. He made a few notes in his tatty old notebook and thought about magically duplicating the newspapers he thought were particularly apposite, but he decided against it. He would tell Snape about those newspapers and use his Legilimency to refer back to them later. Lupin had gotten out of the habit of relying on anyone else ever since James had died and Sirius was dragged off to prison (it had been a joke between them that Peter wasn't very reliable; Lupin still regretted that joke, years later). For Harry's sake, he had joined forces with Snape; he wanted to make their partnership work; he was firm in his resolve. He had to trust Snape, and make good use of his special abilities, otherwise what was the point?

He thought he might be getting somewhere. He had feared that the Ministry of Magic would be an obstacle to their plans to find a happy home for Harry; some of the senior officials would surely want to interfere, coming up with plans of their own. But wouldn't it be better to circumvent the need to involve the Ministry of Magic? What if they went through the normal, non-magical, adoption procedures? After all, the Ministry of Magic was (in theory, at least; in practice, not so much) subordinate to the British Government, the muggle Prime Minister and the House of Commons. They could, quite legally, find a new and loving family for Harry Potter and they need not inform the Ministry of Magic.

It was the germ of an idea. There were still a lot of details that Lupin knew he had yet to work out. There might be other difficulties he hadn't considered. And it didn't obviate the need for him to go to the Ministry of Magic and research into what would happen if they tried to find Harry Potter a foster family in the wizarding world.

There were many things that had to be taken into consideration.

* * *

><p>Leaving the library, Lupin Apparated to somewhere near the heart of London (Whitehall, he thought it was), where there was a street of shabby-looking offices, a pub and a lot of ramshackle scaffolding left over from an abandoned building project. He got into a dilapidated red telephone box and dialled the number for the Ministry of Magic's visitor's entrance.<p>

'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,' said a cool female voice. 'Please state your name and business.'

'Remus Lupin, here to consult the Wizengamot's records of past legal cases,' said Lupin.

'Thank you.'

There was a click, and a square silver badge clattered into the telephone's coin return slot. It was marked with the words _Remus Lupin, Legal Inquiry_.

'Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes,' said the cool female voice. Lupin fixed it to the top pocket of his long coat, but the voice wasn't finished yet. It said: 'Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.'

The telephone box shuddered and began to sink beneath the ground. Lupin had to wait a minute for the lift to reach its destination, several floors down, then the door opened and the magnificence of the Ministry of Magic's Atrium was revealed to him. He had to shield his eyes against the golden glow.

'The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,' the voice intoned. Lupin went to present himself to the security wizard, who was looking bored and listless; he didn't have much to do at this time of day, and he'd nearly finished the Daily Prophet's crossword puzzle.

'Really thought I had it with "smorgasbord",' the security wizard said despondently, staring at one of the crossword clues he'd been unable to solve. Lupin took a peek at it while the security wizard took the measurements of his wand. It was an eleven letter word, the clue was "a motley assortment of things" and, if the other words that had been worked out were correct, the third letter was 'l', the seventh letter was 'a' and the tenth letter was 'r'.

'No, I don't know either,' said Lupin, taking back his wand.

The security wizard chuckled and said, 'how are you at the cryptic crosswords?'

'Hopeless,' said Lupin. 'Good luck with that.'

He got into one of the lifts that had stopped off on this floor, and pressed the button for Level Two. He had the lift to himself until it reached Level Six and a squadron of paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift, and then on Level Four when he was joined by a frail, elderly witch. She got out on Level Three, along with most of the magical memos, and Lupin was again left alone for the final stretch.

'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services,' said the voice that had accompanied him ever since he'd entered the building. The door opened and Lupin stepped out into the corridor.

He had taken only a few steps when he heard a familiar voice call out to him: 'Remus! I hadn't expected to see you here. How are you?'

Arthur Weasley was there, standing in one of the office doorways, beaming at him. In one hand he was holding a mostly empty mug of tea; on the outside of the mug there were glittering, partially faded magical words proclaiming that he was the "World's Best Dad!"

'Hello, Arthur,' Lupin said. 'I'm fine, how are you?'

'Oh, you know, mustn't grumble,' Mr. Weasley said cheerfully. 'I've just dealt with a consignment of cursed doorknobs and I think I've earned a bit of a break. Come in! Would you like a cup of tea?'

'None for me, thank you,' said Lupin, following Mr. Weasley into the tiny, dingy Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. He saw Mr. Weasley's white-haired old assistant, Perkins, with a cup of tea in one hand and a quill in the other, filling out forms in between sips.

'What are you here for then, Remus?' said Mr. Weasley. 'Anything I can help with?'

'I'm here to confer with the Wizengamot's Administration Services, actually. That's where I'll find records of previous court cases and trials, isn't it?'

'Yes, it is,' said Mr. Weasley, giving Lupin a shrewd look.

There was a pause. Lupin didn't want to discuss his reasons for coming here in any greater detail; he didn't want anyone to guess what he was up to; and Mr. Weasley was gracious enough not to inquire.

After a moment, Mr. Weasley changed the subject: 'We're having some friends over to dinner tonight, Molly and I, and you're very welcome to join us if you'd like, Remus.'

'Oh, I couldn't possibly,' Lupin said embarrassedly, although he was positively salivating at the thought of Molly Weasley's delicious home cooked food; it had been a while since he'd eaten anything so wonderful. Indeed, it had been a while since that stale toast this morning; it was now mid-afternoon; he'd skipped lunch.

'I insist,' Mr. Weasley smiled. 'It's no trouble. The more the merrier!'

'Well, if you're sure,' said Lupin. He hadn't really needed much convincing. 'Who else will be there? Anyone I know?'

'My younger children, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny; they'll have a table to themselves,' said Mr. Weasley. 'I've invited the Lovegoods; Molly wanted to thank them for all their help looking after the children.'

Lupin remembered the Saturday night's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, when Molly Weasley had rushed off to check up on her kids after the Lovegoods could only have been looking after them for a few minutes. Mrs. Weasley did tend to fret about her family (not that that was necessarily a bad thing; she was a very loving mother).

'I've also invited the Diggories and the Fawcetts,' said Mr. Weasley. 'It'll be good to have all the neighbours around. But I doubt the Fawcetts will show up; they don't, usually.'

'Sounds like quite a crowd,' Lupin murmured. He worried that the Weasleys' house wasn't that large.

Mr. Weasley didn't seem too concerned. 'We've done it before,' he said.

'I will gladly accept your invitation,' said Lupin, casting aside his doubts. 'Thank you, Arthur. What time should I arrive?'

'About seven o'clock,' said Mr. Weasley, 'I'll look forward to seeing you then.'

'Goodbye, for now, Arthur,' said Lupin. He had come here with a specific purpose in mind and he knew he had to make a start.

'Goodbye, Remus,' said Mr. Weasley, going back to his work.

* * *

><p>Several more hours had passed. Remus Lupin rubbed his eyes and stared blankly at the folder in front of him; he didn't think he was making much progress. His stomach was grumbling.<p>

The first thing he had to do when he found the Wizengamot's Administration Services was explain what he wanted to the lugubrious, grey-faced wizard who seemed to be in charge, and who had difficulty comprehending the possibility that anyone could want to look through the old court notes and records. It took a great deal of persuading and cajoling before he agreed to let Lupin search through the archives. He hadn't seemed impressed by any of Lupin's arguments and Lupin rather suspected that, in the end, he only gave in because he couldn't be bothered to deal with him anymore.

Then, Lupin wasted at least half an hour trying to figure out the archives' obscure filing system. During that time, he read of how Constance Peverell, the last known bearer of the Peverell name, had been given over to the foster care of August Thicknesse. His appointment as her guardian had vastly profited him but it led to her ruination; she died young, in sickness and destitution, while he stripped her estate of everything that was of value to him. Some of Constance's other relatives had tried to hold Thicknesse to account, but the Wizengamot had cleared him of all charges. Tragic as that was, it had happened back in 1722, and Lupin was looking for more current examples.

Eventually, he discovered a number of court records that had to do with guardianship hearings that had taken place during or just after the war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, when a great many wizarding families had been wiped out and provisions had had to be made for the survivors (if there were any survivors). At first glance, they seemed much more promising, but they made for depressing reading. Not only because the conflict was still raw and recent in Lupin's mind and he was reminded of friends and acquaintances that had been foully murdered, but also because the Wizengamot's corruption was so blatant.

There were a few good people who had voted without biases, according to their consciences, but the majority of the Wizengamot's members were dishonest, gullible and about as spineless as jellyfish. If the parents had left clear and unambiguous instructions as to who would look after a child in the event of their untimely deaths, that was all well and good but, in most cases, the Wizengamot was a well-oiled machine designed to cater to the whims of the rich, powerful and influential.

It was with mixed feelings that Lupin reflected that the Wizengamot had actually gotten better over the past few years. Some efforts had been made to reform the organisation and to purge it of corruption. Honest, fair-minded people (Amelia Bones, for example) were trying to lead by example, and they'd had some successes. Lucius Malfoy and a few others still had an obscene amount of influence, though. Lupin's mixed feelings were thus: he felt happy that people now stood a decent chance of getting a fair trial, but he was dismayed that, even after all the reforms and moral crusades, the Wizengamot was a downright shoddy system of government.

If he could avoid it (and he had a pretty good idea of how to avoid it), he wouldn't let the Wizengamot have any say in Harry's upbringing; enough harm had been done.

Actually, he had to admit that the Wizengamot would have been hard-pressed to choose guardians that were any _worse_ than the Dursleys...

It was getting late. The grey-faced wizard who'd been persuaded to let him in was tapping his watch and clearing his throat. Lupin realised that he'd outstayed his welcome.

He'd go home, make himself vaguely presentable, put on some fresh (shabby but clean) clothes, and head over to the Weasleys' house.

* * *

><p>'That was absolutely delicious, Molly,' said Lupin, feeling blissfully contented and pleasantly full for the first time in ages.<p>

'Have some more, dear,' she said fondly, cramming more of the pie onto his plate. 'Help yourself to vegetables.'

Lupin felt absurdly guilty that he was having such a delightful evening and Harry assuredly wasn't, but he was realistic enough to know that starving himself and being miserable wouldn't help Harry, so he might as well make the best of it.

He had been chatting with the other guests, interesting people that he'd not met before.

As Arthur Weasley had predicted, the Fawcett family had sent apologies and said they were too busy to come. Which was probably a good thing; the room was quite crowded, even so.

Amos Diggory was a loud and somewhat boastful man, enormously proud of his son, Cedric. 'He's been on that broom, day and night, in all weathers... he'll be playing Quidditch for England one day, mark my words!'

His wife, Cecilia Diggory, was a quiet and somewhat shy woman. A few times Lupin had tried to involve her in the conversation, and she had spoken a few words, but she soon lapsed into silence. It wasn't that she was rude; she was thoughtful and precise, and she didn't let a careless word slip past her lips; everything she said was well-considered.

Their son, Cedric, sat with the children at the lower table. He was a few months older than the Weasley twins, Fred and George, and he readily and earnestly tried to laugh along with their games and pranks even though most of the time he was the butt of the joke. In fact, he was such a good sport that Fred and George soon stopped teasing him; either they were ashamed of themselves or it was no fun for them to pick on such a willing victim.

Or else it was because Molly Weasley had noticed that Fred and George were messing around at the dinner table and she'd given them a look that promised dire punishments if they didn't sit down and behave themselves.

Xenophilius Lovegood was a strange man, eccentrically-dressed and prone to staring off into space, daydreaming. He was the editor of _The Quibbler_, a newspaper that (as far as Lupin could tell) consisted mostly of crackpot conspiracy theories and made-up stories about nonexistent creatures, mingled with satire and some ingenious games, quizzes and puzzles in the back.

Most people seemed to think _The Quibbler_ was rubbish; Lupin hadn't seen enough of it to form an opinion, but he had been quite impressed by the one issue of _The Quibbler_ that he'd actually read, with its story of Millicent Bagnold baking goblins into pies. It had been a devastatingly sharply pointed work of satire; he was surprised that more people hadn't got the joke.

(The story was basically a long list of all the times goblins had been discriminated against, ignored or insulted by the Ministry of Magic during Millicent Bagnold's still ongoing regime. Lupin thought that Xenophilius Lovegood had rather exquisitely made his point that the Ministry of Magic had treated goblins with such contempt that they might as well have been baking them into pies.)

The stories about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Umgubular Slashkilters were complete nonsense, except that they pointed out anomalies and discrepancies in serious scientific data that had neither been explained nor accounted for. Not only did _The Quibbler_ make for entertaining reading, it was meant to challenge intellectual laziness and conformity and the narrow-minded attitudes and assumptions of many people in the wizarding world.

Or perhaps Lupin was gravely mistaken. It was hard to be sure.

He mentioned it to Xenophilius Lovegood, saying: 'Mr. Lovegood, I enjoyed that article you wrote about Millicent Bagnold baking goblin pies. Stimulating reading, I thought.'

For a moment, Xenophilius Lovegood gave Lupin a calculating stare that seemed to go right through him and pin him to the wall. Then the corners of his lips turned upwards in a slightly bewildered smile; Xenophilius Lovegood was unsure of whether Lupin was subtly mocking him but he'd decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

'I am happy to meet a man with an open mind,' he said. 'Please, call me Xenophilius, or Xeno, if you prefer.'

'Oh, come on, Lupin!' Amos Diggory said disgustedly. 'You don't really believe that drivel, do you?'

Xenophilius's face turned pale and he wore an expression of injured dignity. 'I believe I serve a higher truth,' he said.

Amos Diggory snorted. '_The Quibbler_ is nothing like the truth! It's balderdash, all of it!'

'Now, now, let's not argue,' Molly Weasley said, seeing a fearsome argument in the making and hurriedly stepping in to defuse it. 'It would be a shame to spoil such a lovely evening!'

'To speak out is an act of rebellion against the forces of oppression and tyranny,' Xenophilius said airily. 'My quill is the weapon of an iconoclast; a spear to puncture bloated egos, an axe to chop down cherished falsehoods, a billhook to clear away the deadwood that clutters the minds of the ignorant and credulous-'

Amos Diggory stifled a laugh; he was loath to risk the wrath of Molly Weasley.

'I ask not that you believe what I've written, only that you _think_. The universe is infinitely vast, greater than anything humans can comprehend, and the sum total of all human knowledge is but a drop of water in an ocean of uncertainty-'

Xenophilius might have said more, heedless of the fact that Molly Weasley was glaring daggers at him, but his wife put a hand on his arm and he subsided. While he was speaking, a fierce passion and intensity had blazed brightly in his eyes, but it soon died down. His wife, Astrid, was a soothing influence on him.

Astrid Lovegood was an elegant, beautiful woman in spite of the fact that her face and hands were scorched as if by severe sunburn. Her golden blonde hair was cropped short; Lupin suspected that she'd had to salvage what little she could when it caught fire. ('An experimental spell blew up in my face,' she'd explained when he'd asked if she was alright. 'I'm fine, don't worry. It's happened before, and I've no doubt it'll happen again.')

Their daughter, Luna, was a serious little girl, not quite seven years of age. She seemed to have inherited her father's habit of staring intently at things that attracted her interest. Her dress was a patchwork of many colours; it was unusual, and Lupin thought it was cute. At the lower table, Luna Lovegood seemed to get on very well with the Weasleys' daughter, Ginny, chattering away happily, but she didn't talk much with any of the others.

'I liked that article you wrote about that recently-discovered painting in the Vatican,' Arthur Weasley said, addressing Xenophilius, 'with the uncanny resemblance of one of the men in the background to Stubby Boardman from The Hobgoblins.'

He grinned. 'Wouldn't it be hilarious if that was true?' he said.

'It is true,' Xenophilius said primly. 'But whether Stubby Boardman is a time traveller or if he has discovered the secret of immortality I really cannot say.'

'Right,' said Molly Weasley, getting up. 'Who wants pudding?'

She served the children first, and they were soon tucking in to large helpings of ice cream, apple pie and custard, or treacle pudding (or any combination of those three).

'Remus, what would you like?' she said sweetly.

'Please may I have some apple pie with ice cream,' he said.

'Of course you may.' She added a generous amount to his bowl and handed it back to him. 'Cecilia?' she said, turning to Mrs. Diggory next.

The rest of the meal passed deliciously and uneventfully.

Lupin couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself this much. Stuffed full of good food, he sat on the settee and drifted into a leisurely haze, listening to Arthur, Fred, George and Ron Weasley and Amos and Cedric Diggory talking about Quidditch. Luna and Ginny were playing an amazingly elaborate game with dolls and stuffed toys; Lupin hadn't had chance to overhear much of what they were whispering to each other, but it sounded more exciting than any soap opera he could have watched on muggle television. Molly Weasley was in the kitchen, talking to the other women (and Xenophilius Lovegood, who didn't seem to know what he was supposed to be doing).

There was one task that he hadn't managed to do today. He hadn't been sure of where to start. He could leave it for another day but he would surely run into the same problem: how could he ask questions about the Tonks family without it being too suspicious? He didn't want to attract attention to any of his activities, not yet.

But, he was here with friends, he'd had a wonderful time, and he felt bold enough to take a chance. 'Do any of you know Ted Tonks?' he asked, when there was a sudden lull in the conversation, after young Ronald Weasley had sworn that the Chudley Cannons had real League Cup title hopes this year.

'What?' said Amos Diggory. 'Sorry, didn't hear that- what did you say?'

'Yes, I know him,' Arthur Weasley said, after a moment's thought. 'Why do you want to know? Got something you need repaired?'

'Lots of things,' Lupin said truthfully. He decided to go out on a limb here; he didn't think it was much of a risk. 'Is he any good?'

'Best magical handyman I know,' Amos Diggory said. He paused for a few seconds, and then laughed sheepishly. 'Er, well- that's faint praise- I don't know any other magical handymen. But he is good, yes. I hired him to fix my kitchen a while ago; did a superb job of it.'

Lupin was glad that Arthur Weasley and Amos Diggory were so convivial and eager to help. He had been fortunate; there was nothing strange or suspicious about inquiring after a tradesman he wanted to do a job for him, was there? (Well, in reality, Lupin couldn't have afforded to hire anyone but they didn't have to know that, did they?)

'If you want to get in touch with him by post, I can lend you my owl,' Amos Diggory said.

'Well, thank you,' said Lupin, raising his eyebrows. He was surprised and gratified. He didn't know Amos Diggory as anything more than a casual acquaintance, but he was touched by the man's generosity. 'Do you mind if I hold off on that for now? I'll get back to you later.'

'Maestro can use the exercise,' Amos Diggory shrugged. 'So if you want to use him, just let me know.'

Fred and George Weasley had gotten bored and were trying to persuade Ron and Cedric Diggory to play a game of two-a-side Quidditch with them. Arthur Weasley put a stop to it.

'Boys, it's late,' he said. 'You should be going to bed.'

'Come on, dad!'

'Please, dad!'

'No, it's cold and dark outside,' Arthur Weasley said. 'You don't want to be messing about on brooms at this time of night.'

'You're right, it's late,' Amos Diggory said, glancing at the clock. 'Cedric, have you said goodbye to everyone and thanked Mr And Mrs Weasley for the lovely dinner? No? Well, you do that then!'

The Weasleys boys were looking mutinous at the prospect of having to go to bed. By contrast, Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were wearing identical expressions of sweet, cherubic innocence, carefully tidying away their playthings, showing off how well-behaved they could be. Cedric Diggory went around shaking hands and saying his goodbyes.

'Goodbye, Mr. Lupin,' he said, when it was his turn. 'It was nice to meet you.'

'As always, it's been a pleasure, Arthur,' Amos Diggory said, slapping him on the back. 'I'll see you at work, I expect.' He went into the kitchen, calling: 'Cecilia!'

It was at about this time that Luna Lovegood went to tell her parents that it was really time for them to go home to bed; tomorrow would be a busy day for them and she didn't want them to be tired.

Lupin was one of the last to leave, after everything was said and done. He shook Arthur's hand and hugged Molly, impulsively. 'It's been wonderful,' he said. 'Thank you so much.'

'We've been glad to have you, Remus,' Molly smiled at him. 'You must come again, soon.'

'It would be my pleasure,' Lupin said, with absolute honesty.

Arthur Weasley seemed somewhat embarrassed by this praise. 'Um, Dumbledore's the one you ought to thank,' he said, flushing red to the tips of his ears. 'I mean, it's been great to see you, but I wouldn't have thought to invite you if he hadn't told me you were going through a rough time, and you might be in need of some good food and company.'

'What?' said Lupin, startled. 'When did Dumbledore say that?'

'This morning,' Arthur said. He looked shame-faced. 'He came to the Ministry for some reason, and while he was there he popped in to see me for a few minutes. He said he was worried about you.'

Lupin felt stunned. He couldn't think of anything to say. He didn't know what to feel. He stood there, open-mouthed.

Molly Weasley nudged her husband, reprovingly; she loved him for his honesty, but this was one occasion when she felt he'd been too honest.

'Remus, it really has been lovely to see you,' she said. 'I wish we'd thought of it first.'

Her gentle voice snapped Lupin out of his reverie. 'Yes, I do understand,' he said, a little stiffly. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Not for the first time that day, he felt conflicted, torn between gratitude and resentment. He was grateful to Dumbledore for taking care of him, for doing these small things to help him, but at the same time, he resented the old man's interference in his life; he hated the feeling that he was being manipulated. He was still too angry with Dumbledore to accept that he might have purely benevolent motives.

'Whatever the reason, I've had a wonderful time,' said Lupin, with a heavy sigh. 'I needed that. Thank you again.'

It was late. And it was raining. He Apparated home.

* * *

><p><em>Note: In case you were wondering, Astrid Lovegood is my homage to one of my favourite works of fanfiction, Arpad Hrunta's 'Protection From Nargles'.<em>


	7. A Matter of Perspective

_Note: This chapter takes place on the same day as the previous two Remus Lupin chapters._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: A Matter of Perspective<strong>

Unusually, Professor Snape was nowhere to be seen in the Great Hall at breakfast on Tuesday morning and, although he was ready and waiting by the time his class of second year Gryffindors and Slytherins filed into the dungeons for their double lesson, he had a noticeably harried and distracted air about him. He was brimming with barely-concealed excitement and anticipation.

The students were quick to take advantage of an atypical situation. A couple of them, braver than the rest, made an attempt to test the boundaries of Snape's unexpected leniency and, when they were not immediately punished for holding a mock sword-fight at the back of the classroom, everyone else assumed they had _carte blanche_ to do whatever they liked.

Snape was dispensing advice to a student who was struggling with the set task and who looked baffled that his potion so far didn't match the description in the textbook. Snape's willingness to offer help seemed to unnerve the student somewhat.

'Next time, stir slowly and keep a careful count, Timmins,' Snape said, looking at the watery slop in Timmins's cauldron. 'Precision is very important in potion-making.'

He had a faint smile on his face; he was thinking wistfully of what it would be like to be the one to tell Harry that magic was real and that he was a wizard, to take him to the shops in Diagon Alley and show him around Hogwarts, to help Harry make a start on his education, by showing him the things that pure-blood children took for granted. He could tell Harry about Lily; he didn't imagine that the Dursleys had ever told him the truth about his parents (with that in mind, Snape strained his memory to think of something nice to say about James Potter; it wasn't easy).

He had sworn an oath to protect Harry, and he would do just that; he would remove Harry from a life of toil and misery and find him a real home, where he'd be in the company of people who loved and appreciated him. He could be Harry's friend and mentor figure; it would be just like having a son of his own.

Snape had never much liked small children, but if it was Lily's...

He dragged his mind out of his daydreams, offering some more help to Timmins, who was still trying to get his potion to thicken.

'Add three drops of Flobberworm Mucus,' said Snape. 'That should-'

He stopped when he realised he could no longer hear himself above the din. He glanced around the room to find it in chaos: many of the students had wandered away from their cauldrons and stood chatting to one another, sharing the most recent gossip; two of the boys at the back of the class were play-fighting; and one girl was reading to her friends from her copy of the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. Swiftly, he took steps to assert his authority and regain control.

'Quiet!' he snapped, in a voice that filled the entire room and in a tone that caused several of the misbehaving students to visibly cringe and shudder. 'What do you think you're doing? Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin! Drake, Pallister, get out of my classroom; wait in the corridor and I'll deal with you in a moment. Sockburn, give me that!'

The sallow-faced Slytherin, Stephanie Sockburn, grudgingly came forward and handed him her magazine. She did it with such ill grace that he was unsure of whether or not she was deliberately trying to irritate him.

'Come to me for it at the end of the day,' he said, walking over to his desk and locking the magazine away in his desk drawer. He sighed; he was reluctant to give detentions during his final three weeks at Hogwarts because supervising them would cut into the time he had to plan Harry's rescue, but he couldn't let discipline fall to pieces.

'You will receive an hour-long detention, starting at seven o'clock, tomorrow night,' he said. 'I think these floors could do with a good scrubbing.'

Miss Sockburn, a witch from an ancient and distinguished pure-blood family, stared at him in horror. It was as if he'd suggested she should leave Hogwarts and apply for a job as a muggle waitress.

Snape said nothing else for a moment. He gazed around the classroom, glaring at the other students who were waiting fearfully to see what he would do next.

'You disappoint me,' he said coldly. 'I should be able to trust you to get on with your work for a few minutes without me breathing down your necks. Instead, you've behaved disgracefully. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

'Perhaps I should have been clearer: this is a classroom; you're here to learn; you're not here to chitchat and play the fool. Do any of you not understand that? Well then, do any of you not understand what you're supposed to be doing? Would anyone like to ask me for help?'

No one answered. They all bent their heads over their cauldrons, trying hard not to attract his notice. There was silence in the dungeon.

'I'm going outside to talk to Mr. Drake and Mr. Pallister,' Snape said. He was still fuming, inwardly. 'Remember: just because I'm not in the room doesn't mean I can't hear you. If I hear talking, I will be issuing detentions. Is that clear?'

He took the chorus of murmurs for assent.

Outside, in the corridor, he confronted the two Gryffindor boys, Kenneth Drake and David Pallister; they were quaking in their boots, having had time to imagine the awful punishments that Snape might have in store for them.

Snape told them, in no uncertain terms, that their behaviour had been stupid, dangerous and disrespectful. He advised them to read up on elementary wand safety.

'Clashing your wands together like that,' he said, shaking his head reprovingly, 'you were lucky you didn't lose fingers.' (Well, that was an exaggeration, but there was no doubt that both boys had been very foolish.)

He said that he'd be speaking to their Head of House and that 'you will be joining Miss Sockburn for your detentions tomorrow night.'

They both looked repentant, so he sent them back into the classroom and told them that they had a lot of work to catch up on.

In Snape's absence, the classroom had been completely silent, but Severus Snape was a distrustful man by nature. He looked around the room, taking a quick headcount and making sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be. He made sure that his desk drawer was still securely locked.

When he was sure that nothing was out of place, Snape again went around the class checking to see how far the students had progressed with the set task. Most of them were doing about as well as could be expected.

For the rest of the lesson the class was fairly quiet and well-behaved; some of the students even plucked up the courage to ask for help when they were stuck. Against all the odds, more than half of them managed to produce at least an Acceptable potion (Gilchrist Timmins was one of them). Therefore, by the end, Severus Snape felt quite kindly disposed towards them.

'Five points to Gryffindor and Slytherin,' he said, as they were heading for the door. 'Now be off with you!'

The students were all dumbfounded. They had never heard of Snape behaving like this before. He was not known for his fairness, generosity or restraint. When he'd deducted points, he wasn't supposed to give any of them back. It was as if he'd undergone a personality transplant since the last time they'd seen him. They hurriedly off to their next lesson, and along the way, they spread the word of how strangely Snape was behaving. Soon the news would be all over the school.

While he waited for his next class, Snape grimaced at the thought of how badly that lesson could have gone, if he'd let the situation escalate any further. It was a sobering reminder of how quickly a quiet classroom could deteriorate into a shambles if the teacher wasn't fully alert and paying attention to what was going on. He had to be focussed, now as much as he had ever been; it wouldn't do to let standards slip, not when he was so close to the end.

Ever since Lupin had told him about how cruelly Harry Potter had been treated, Snape had felt new and unfamiliar emotions welling up inside him. Compassion was not something he'd much experienced, but he found it all too easy to imagine himself in Harry's place; he knew what it was like to be neglected and abused.

Righteous anger was an odd and heady emotion. Snape knew it could lead him into rash action, when what he needed was subterfuge. Charging in heedlessly would cause more harm than good; when Harry was rescued, the rescue operation would be carefully planned, with nothing left up to chance. Snape made sure to keep a tight rein on his sense of righteous anger.

Hardest to cope with was the surge of pent-up excitement that threatened to take possession of him. He felt as if he knew Harry already; as if an old friend who he'd sorely missed was now coming back into his life. He caught himself smiling whenever he thought about what it would be like to see Harry with his own eyes.

But he'd never seen Harry, or talked to him, and he didn't really know anything about him. It would be awful- and unfair- and wrong of him- if he constructed this elaborate fantasy of what Harry was like and then he was disappointed that the reality didn't measure up. Harry was a real person. He wasn't Snape's dream of the son he might have had with Lily if things had turned out differently.

Harry was James's son. He had to remember that.

Snape had hated James Potter, because James was an arrogant, conceited, bullying twit who'd never had to suffer hardship of any kind; he'd charmed his way through life using his family name and his skill on the Quidditch pitch. James had _everything_ he wanted...

_Lily..._

He still hated James. But what was the point of raging against a dead man? Why cling on to bitter memories of things that he could never change?

James was dead. And Lily was dead. No amount of wishing could bring her back.

But Harry was alive. Harry was in need of someone to look after him. Even if he hadn't already sworn that he'd do it, Snape would have wanted to be that someone.

It wasn't ideal. It wasn't what he'd longed for. But it would have to do.

* * *

><p>'Life isn't fair, Miss Lamb,' said Snape. He sat back and waited to see if the tear-streaked Hufflepuff girl would let that be an end to the matter.<p>

Maura Lamb, a fifth year student, had many fine qualities, but being quick on the uptake was not one of them. Her usual tactic, when faced with resistance, was to slightly change her position in the hope that she could wear it down by attacking from a different angle.

'She said I'd been cheating on 'im- it's not true- I'd never- she's such a cow! She was kissing 'im right there in the common room, in front of everyone, and I-!'

Wearily, Snape interrupted her tirade, waving for her to be quiet. His low, measured voice seemed to penetrate through Miss Lamb's shouting and sobbing. No one in the room missed the impact of his words.

'I don't care who started it,' he said. 'I don't care whose fault it was. I'm not interested in your tangled love lives, although I wish I didn't have to hear so much about them.

'What I care about is that I have a class to teach: twenty students who should all be able to pass their OWL in Potions, if they put the work in and if there aren't too many more disruptions.' He sighed. 'I'm trying to teach, and these other students are trying to learn, so I'd appreciate it if you'd sit down and shut up, even if you don't care what OWL result you get.'

'But I'm not the only one-!'

'Do you want me to give you a detention, Miss Lamb?'

'That's not fair!'

'As I said-'

Snape began to speak, but then he had second thoughts. He had no interest in continuing this argument; it was a waste of time and it was starting to go around in circles. There were other students who looked in need of his assistance.

His solution to the problem was to banish Maura Lamb from the classroom for the rest of the lesson. He told her to go and tell her Head of House, Professor Sprout, everything that had happened. When she was removed, the rest of the lesson went smoothly and peacefully. Snape went around the room, talking to the students, making suggestions for how the potions could be improved; he was pleasantly surprised by the results.

It was the final lesson of the day. After the unpleasantness in the morning's double lesson, Snape had adopted a slightly modified version of the strict, disdainful attitude he had worn since his schooldays. Not many of the students had dared test him since then; most of them were perceptive enough to feel a chill of foreboding when they entered the room; of course, Maura Lamb had been an exception.

Snape grimly awaited the need to give Professor Sprout his version of events. Although Pomona Sprout was no fool, she was a sympathetic, kind-hearted woman, a nurturing and encouraging Head of House, firmly on the side of her Hufflepuffs. She might be inclined to give Miss Lamb's sob story the benefit of the doubt until she could establish what had really happened. Snape didn't relish the prospect of having to wade through accusations, half-truths and evasions in order to prove that his response had been justified.

As the lesson drew to a close, he told the other students in the class to clean up and pack their things away. He made sure that everything was reasonably tidy before he allowed them to depart.

'I'll see you on Friday,' he reminded them as they flocked towards the exit. 'I want your essays handed in then: twelve inches on the properties of Moonstone and its uses in potion-making, remember!'

When he was sure that they were gone, Snape sat down to do some marking; piles of homework had been collecting on his desk over the past week and he needed to get it done. He was going through the motions of acting like this was any other day. Snape was a man who liked to be firmly in control of himself. He would curb his anticipation; he couldn't go rushing off at the first opportunity; he had too much work to be getting on with.

Stephanie Sockburn tiptoed into the dungeon, wearing a sullen look on her face and rubbing her left arm as if it pained her. Snape waited for the second year girl to approach him before he looked up from the test papers he was marking.

'Miss Sockburn,' he said. 'What do you want?'

'Please, sir, you said I could have my magazine back at the end of the day.'

'Yes, I did, didn't I?' Snape mused. He unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out the copy of _Witch Weekly_ he'd confiscated from her. He handed it over. 'Don't let me catch you doing that again.'

'I won't.'

'I'll see you for your detention tomorrow night-' Snape paused, for a second. 'What's wrong with your arm?'

'It hurts, sir.'

'Then you must tell Madam Pomfrey,' Snape said snappishly. He rather suspected that this was a ploy Miss Sockburn hoped would excuse her from scrubbing the floors. Well, it wouldn't work; Madam Pomfrey knew a malingerer when she saw one, and if Miss Sockburn was in genuine pain she could have it fixed up in a matter of seconds.

Snape thought he saw Miss Sockburn's face twisted by a contemptuous sneer as she flounced out of the room. He didn't say anything.

He went back to marking last week's NEWT mock test papers. He made some headway, but before long he felt his impatience was getting the better of him. He restlessly paced back and forth across the dungeon room, glancing at the clock more than once in the space of seconds. It was nearly half past four. By the time he'd walked to the edge of the castle grounds, Harry should be home from school, even if he'd taken a lengthy and circuitous route to delay his return to the Dursleys' tender mercies.

Snape considered whether or not he should wait a few more minutes in case Professor Sprout came to him demanding an explanation for Miss Lamb's distress. However, he decided that if Professor Sprout urgently wanted to speak to him, she could do it when he came back. He wouldn't wait any longer than he had to; he was champing at the bit, so to speak.

He hurried off, but not before he'd donned his thick coat and a wristwatch, putting his wand in his pocket. That was all he was likely to need.

The journey seemed interminable. Several times, Snape was tempted to break into a run. He stopped himself, not only because he would have looked ridiculous and he hated being mocked, but also because it would make no real difference; he would see Harry, in time; patience was a virtue he had cultivated.

* * *

><p>Snape Apparated to Wisteria Walk, near Privet Drive; his arrival point was the same shady clump of trees he'd previously found useful for concealing his Disapparition from prying eyes, last night. He used a Disillusionment Charm to make himself almost invisible before he stepped out from under cover of the trees. He wanted to look closely at Harry, and the Dursleys, and he didn't want them to notice him spying on them.<p>

He strode briskly down the road, except when he had to flatten himself against the wall to avoid a young couple who were out for a stroll with their baby in a pram. He walked up to the house at 4, Privet Drive. He hesitated for a moment, feeling quite queasy. Despite all the efforts he'd made to calm himself, he was nervous about seeing Harry.

It was with great trepidation that Snape sidled up to each of the ground floor windows in turn, looking to see if there was anybody inside. He had a stroke of luck when he came to the kitchen window. He could hear voices and he saw that there were several people in the room, getting dinner ready. He cast a quick nonverbal charm to enhance his hearing to the extent that he could hear what was being said.

There was a boy who resembled a porcine ball of flab with blond curls; he was mooching around, munching on a bar of chocolate, doing nothing to help the others in their dinner preparations. Putting things into the oven to cook, there was a thin, blonde woman with a somewhat horsey face; Snape recognised Petunia Dursley.

Over on the other side of the kitchen, there was a scrawny little lad who was industriously chopping up vegetables, even though he had to stand on a stool to reach the countertop. Was that Harry? Could it be? He looked too young...

'Mum, when will dinner be ready?' said the ball of flab.

'Not yet, dearest,' Petunia said fondly. She turned to look at the little lad, glaring at him, yelling: 'haven't you finished that yet, you lazy, worthless boy?'

It took a moment for Snape to recover from his shock. He gaped at the little lad, realising that, yes, this was indeed Harry Potter. He had listened to Lupin's account of how Harry had been mistreated, and he had accepted it as truth, but he had thought that the Dursleys would be more subtle about it; he hadn't expected a demonstration. Was this how they treated him all the time? If so, how had they managed to get away with it for so long?

He stared at Harry for what seemed like an age, examining every familiar detail, looking for traces of his parentage. He had to admit that, at first glance, Harry looked a bit like James; he wore spectacles and he had that same mass of unruly hair. And yet, in every other aspect, Harry was nothing like James.

Harry was tiny, as thin as a rake, wearing shabby clothes that were much too big for him and glasses that had been broken and crudely mended many times; he was a meek little thing, afraid to do anything that might upset his relatives, obeying their demands without complaint. Whereas, ever since Snape had first seen him, James had been a strapping lad, in the prime of health, dressed in the best robes that money could buy, swaggering about like he was king of the world. There was no chance of Snape mistaking Harry for James.

Then, Harry turned around, having finished chopping vegetables, and Snape caught sight of his eyes for the first time. Harry had Lily's eyes: beautiful, emerald green eyes.

Snape took a deep, shuddering breath.

He studied Harry's face, ignoring the glasses. The famous lightning bolt scar was hidden somewhere underneath all that hair; he didn't see it. He thought he saw a suggestion of Lily's delicate features, in the shape of Harry's nose and his fine cheekbones. Yes, that was what Snape _wanted_ to see...

'Idiot boy, get out of the way!' Petunia snarled, lashing out with a saucepan. For one heart-stopping moment, Snape thought that she would bash Harry's head in, but she pulled back just in time. 'Go lay the table! Make yourself useful!'

It took Snape's every last ounce of self-control to restrain himself from smashing open the front door and hexing Petunia Dursley into oblivion. An impressive list of curses came to mind, and he allowed himself the pleasure of fantasizing about how he'd exact a brutal and horrible revenge for all the torments that Harry had suffered at the Dursleys' hands. Red rage clouded his eyes and his heart was pounding in his chest. He felt angrier than he had ever been in his life.

Several steps behind him, a soft voice said, 'Severus?'

Snape was so startled that he nearly put his arm through the kitchen window; he checked the movement just in time; there was a loud thump as he struck the glass without breaking it. Petunia scowled at the sound; she came over to check, but she couldn't see anything; she assumed that a bird must have flown into the window by mistake.

'Stupid creature,' she muttered, looking to see if it had fallen and knocked itself out. There was nothing there. She shrugged and went back to making dinner.

Snape turned around. He didn't see anyone there, but he'd learned not to trust the evidence of his eyes. He thought he knew the voice.

'Dumbledore?' he said.

'Walk with me, Severus,' said Dumbledore, 'to the end of the road, come on.'

Snape saw the shadow of a vaguely human shape, standing just a few feet away; Dumbledore had made himself just visible enough that Snape could follow his lead. Taking one last look through the Dursleys' window, Snape hoped to catch a glimpse of Harry, but the boy was gone from the room. It was probably just as well; Snape wasn't sure how much more of the Dursleys' cruelty he could stand to watch. He had to get away before he did something he'd regret.

He followed Dumbledore's shadow and, after a moment, when they were walking along the pavement, the man gradually became visible to him. Dumbledore walked slowly, as though the twin weights of age and weariness were bearing him down; Snape noticed this because it was unusual; normally, Dumbledore's movements were quite sprightly.

'Tell me what you saw, Severus,' said Dumbledore, breaking the tense silence.

'I saw Harry,' said Snape. 'I saw-'

His throat tightened and he couldn't speak.

'What did you think of Harry?' said Dumbledore.

'He... he looks a lot like Lily.'

'Yes, Harry takes after both of his parents,' Dumbledore agreed.

Snape ignored him. 'You knew about the _Dursleys_,' he said in a voice of loathing and disgust. 'You knew... and you didn't do anything. You just let them treat him like dirt! How...?'

'Oh, it was easy,' Dumbledore said bitterly, 'ridiculously easy, in fact.'

He hesitated. 'Severus, wasn't there a time when you realised that you had become something monstrous, something you despised, and you knew you had to pull back from the brink before it was too late?'

'Yes,' Snape said grimly. He remembered it well; it had already been too late. 'What's your point?'

'I had begun thinking in terms of "the greater good",' Dumbledore said. His eyes were filled with pain and horror. His lip curled when he said the words "greater good", as if it was a phrase he found distasteful.

'I was resolved to do the greatest amount of good for the greatest number of people; I was quite prepared to sacrifice individual lives if it was for the benefit of the majority.

'Harry Potter...'

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a few seconds and let out a dismal sigh. 'I thought a few years of unhappiness were a small price to pay for a guarantee of perfect safety for him.'

'That wasn't your decision to make,' Snape said harshly.

'I know. I have to thank you, Severus, and Lupin, too. If not for both of you I would not have been able to pull back from the brink. You opened my eyes to what I already knew, but which I had been unwilling to admit: that the ends do not justify the means, and an evil thing done for "the greater good" is an evil thing nonetheless.'

Snape made a small, noncommittal noise. He was embarrassed by Dumbledore's thanks; his concern was for Harry.

'That was not the first time I've found myself wandering down a Dark path,' said Dumbledore. 'When I was young, at least I could say that I was foolish and inexperienced and I had not had a chance to learn from my mistakes. Now, I have no such excuse.'

'Have you been following me?' Snape said abruptly. He had been so caught off balance that it had not occurred to him to question Dumbledore's sudden appearance out of nowhere, but now that he thought about it...

Dumbledore shook his head. 'I have a number of magical devices in my office that are attuned to Harry. One of them reacts to the presence of other wizards in close proximity to him; I'll need to disable that one when he comes to Hogwarts, of course.'

Snape recalled the spindly silver instruments that he'd seen in Dumbledore's office. He had wondered what some of them were for.

'I knew that you were going to see Harry. I had been expecting it. So when the Wizard Detector began to whirr and hum, I decided to come and see how you were getting on.'

'Checking up on me?' Snape muttered.

There was a pause.

Furrowing his brow, Dumbledore said, 'I accept that I have made some bad decisions concerning the boy's welfare, therefore I have passed on those decisions to you and Remus; I leave them in your capable hands. But that is not to say I don't care about what happens to Harry.'

'Is that because of the prophecy?' Snape growled. That damnable prophecy had been the cause of so much pain and tragedy in his life; he wished he hadn't heard any of it.

'Partly,' Dumbledore admitted. 'Harry is very important, but...' He took a breath. 'Lily and James were my friends.'

Snape looked disbelievingly at Dumbledore. He had heard Dumbledore talking about how he'd been willing to sacrifice individual lives, but he regretted it now. How could he then go on to say that he'd cared about some of those individuals? What was he playing at?

'What will you do now?' said Dumbledore.

Snape blinked. He frowned, trying to lever his train of thought back onto the rails. 'Er, I suppose I'll...'

'I wish you success,' Dumbledore said, while Snape was dithering. 'Give my regards to Arabella Figg, won't you?'

Just like that, Snape was reminded of what he'd planned to do; while he was in the neighbourhood, he had wanted to pay Mrs. Figg a visit. He would talk about Harry and discuss how they were going to rescue him. He would have gotten around to it in the end, but the headmaster had gotten there first.

He gnashed his teeth together, disgruntled. Dumbledore was always two or three steps ahead of him.

'Farewell, Severus,' said Dumbledore. He bowed his head, and Disapparated; he did it in plain sight, in full view of the houses, but Snape wasn't worried; Albus Dumbledore could be sure that no one would notice his sudden Disapparition if he didn't want them to notice.

It was a mere matter of a few seconds for Snape to find somewhere he could safely remove his Disillusionment Charm. Last night, he had noted the location of 11, Wisteria Walk: home of Arabella Figg. He went there directly.

He knocked on the door; it was a few moments before it opened with a creak and the rattle of the security chain.

'Yes, who is it?' an elderly voice quavered. He could see Mrs. Figg's grey face peering through the gap.

'It's me, Professor Severus Snape.' He waited for recognition to dawn. 'I'm here to talk to you about Harry Potter. May I come in?'

'Oh! Er, of course!' There was another rattle as she returned the chain to its hook, and then she opened the door fully.

Snape's first impression was one of cats. There were five cats milling around Mrs. Figg's ankles, rubbing themselves up against her legs and generally making themselves a nuisance. He followed Mrs. Figg into the sitting room, where there were more cats lounging about on the settee and on the chairs. The carpet was coated in a fine layer of cat hair. With his every breath, he inhaled cats, a chokingly thick stench.

His face was an impassive mask; it was an expression he had well practised. He didn't let her see his revulsion.

'Did Remus tell you?' Mrs. Figg said, peering up at him. He nodded.

'Please, sit down. I'll make space,' she said. She picked up a large Kneazle-cross that had claimed most of the settee, stretched out over two seat cushions; it mewed at her, reproachfully.

'I'd rather stand,' Snape said curtly.

'Er, alright,' said Mrs. Figg, putting down the cat. 'Would you like some tea? Or coffee?'

'No, thank you,' said Snape. He wanted to get straight to the point: 'How long have you known Harry?'

'Oh, years,' said Mrs. Figg. 'I babysit him sometimes when the Dursleys don't want him tagging along, usually when they're out spoiling their darling Dudley.' She sneered at that. 'I tried to make this house a refuge for him, when it all got too much, but...' She looked miserable. 'The Dursleys would never have let him come here if they thought he enjoyed it.'

'Lupin said that you'd told Dumbledore,' said Snape, prompting her to keep going.

'Numerous times,' Mrs. Figg nodded. 'He wouldn't listen. So I told Remus instead; he listened to me. He promised he'd do something to help Harry.'

'As have I,' said Snape.

'You're working together?' said Mrs. Figg, with a raised eyebrow. Snape didn't think that she knew anything about the former hostility that had existed between him and Lupin, but she must have seen that Snape didn't really socialize with anyone at the meetings of the Order of the Phoenix. He wasn't renowned for his sense of teamwork.

'Yes, we are,' said Snape firmly. 'Together, we will find Harry the loving home and family he deserves. Will you help us?'

'Er...'

Mrs. Figg looked worried for a moment. He thought she was wondering what kinds of things she might be asked to do, and if it would get her into trouble.

'Dumbledore has given us permission to help Harry,' said Snape. His tone was one of boredom and weariness. 'We won't ask you to do anything that might offend your delicate sensibilities, have no fear.'

'Then, yes, I will help you,' said Mrs. Figg, 'if I can.'

Snape took a moment to think about it. He had considered the possibility of using Mrs. Figg's house as a base of operations when they made their move, but he realised now that he had no desire to spend any more time breathing in the cat stink than was absolutely necessary. Still, it might be useful to include Mrs. Figg in their plans.

There was one last thing he felt obligated to say. It wouldn't be easy for him; he wasn't used to giving praise where it was due. He cleared his throat.

'We owe you a debt of gratitude,' he said, somewhat stiffly. 'If not for you, we would not know that Harry was being mistreated. When we rescue him, and take him to a better life, it will all be thanks to you. So... thank you.'

Mrs. Figg turned away, shame-faced. 'It was the right thing to do,' she said, 'I only wish I'd done it years ago.'


	8. The Right Thing to Do

**Chapter Eight: The Right Thing to Do**

Severus Snape had to fend off several more offers of tea and coffee (and 'I think I've got some chocolate cake, if you'd like') before he could extricate himself from Mrs. Figg's hospitality. When he was a safe distance away, he brushed himself down and cast _Scourgify_ a few times to get rid of the lingering cat odour that had followed him down the street. He found a secluded place from which to Disapparate.

Trudging back along the path from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts, he was overcome by a wave of uncertainty and self-doubt that nearly knocked him to the ground. He felt bile rising in his throat. He leaned against a tree, gasping for breath; in an effort to restore his equilibrium, he ran through some of the basic Occlumency exercises he knew, but calm was a resource he had in short supply. There were too many questions nibbling away at the edges of his consciousness.

Why was he doing this? Why did he really want to help Harry? Was it because he was concerned for the boy, or was that just an excuse? What was he hoping to gain from it? Was he trying to usurp James Potter's rightful place? Did he think that, even in death, Lily would somehow be grateful for his attempts to help Harry? Was he so starved of affection that he was desperately trying to resurrect the memory of his dearest friend, seizing upon anything that had even a tenuous connection to Lily in the vain hope of... what, exactly?

He hadn't so much as flinched when he'd seen Death Eaters committing terrible atrocities, so why had the Dursleys' (relatively minor) cruelty to Harry affected him so deeply? And before that, why had he been so ready to believe Lupin's story of how Harry was being abused? He hadn't doubted it for a second, but why not? Was this what he had secretly wished for? Did he _want_ an opportunity to play the hero by rescuing Lily's son from his abusive muggle relatives?

Snape couldn't be sure of the answers to any of those questions. He was too unsure of his own motives.

* * *

><p>He staggered back to the castle, eventually.<p>

In his office, he added the next round of ingredients to his Potion of Non-Detection, stirring the pot. He was having second thoughts about this: was it really necessary? He could achieve similar effects with a combination of spells he knew.

He was proud of his invention; the Potion of Non-Detection had been his most elegant and efficient tool when he was serving as a spy; it had ensured that he could sidle up to his enemies and eavesdrop on their conversations, safely and without fear of discovery until the dosage wore off. (Of course, it wasn't completely perfect; overconfidence had been his weakness, that night at the Hog's Head.)

But did he really need such a comprehensive means of concealing himself, just to spy on a family of muggles? If he was careful, he could break into their house without difficulty; they need never know. He didn't need a potion for that.

Regardless, he would continue brewing the Potion of Non-Detection. It was good stuff, and he'd surely be able to find some use for it, even if it wasn't what he'd at first intended.

When that was decided, Snape went back to his marking. There were still piles of homework that he had to get through. He spent several hours doing nothing else; he took a break only once, for a sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice brought to him by one of the Hogwarts house-elves that he didn't know.

If he had hoped that hard work would make him too exhausted to dream, it was a futile hope.

He dreamed of being locked up in a cage, too cramped to move, surrounded by crowds of horrible children, pointing and laughing at him and poking him with sticks. James Potter was there, grinning; he waved his wand and then Snape was hanging upside down in the air, still in his cage, with his robes falling down over his eyes. The crowds roared their amusement at this game, and called for more.

'Right,' said James. 'Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?'

It was just like he remembered. Only, this time, no one was going to save him.

* * *

><p>At the staff meeting on Wednesday morning, the news of Snape's imminent departure from Hogwarts was greeted with an enthusiasm that bordered upon the insulting. There was a smattering of applause and a few loud cheers. Snape sat huddled in the corner, speaking barely more than a few words to anyone who approached him, glowering at the floor as though it had done something to upset him.<p>

'Best of luck, old chap,' Professor Kettleburn said, prodding him with the hook he had affixed to the stump of his left hand. Snape knew he'd probably meant it as a friendly pat, but fine motor control was not something that Sylvanus Kettleburn had been capable of since the loss of two and a half of his original limbs.

Snape thought that it was a bit of a cheek for Professor Kettleburn to call him "old chap". Professor Kettleburn was nearly thrice his age and had been teaching at Hogwarts for five or six times as long, surviving no fewer than sixty-two periods of probation along the way.

'And the same to you, Sylvanus,' he said, after he'd paused for a while longer than was socially acceptable; he decided that he might as well make a show of goodwill; it was a comfort to know that he hadn't given every one of his colleagues a reason to hate him. 'You've never thought about retiring?'

'At my age?' Professor Kettleburn gave him a crooked smile. 'Yeah, I've thought about it. Still got a few years left in me, I reckon.'

Snape nodded. He had nothing left to say. He had no real desire for company or to start a dialogue. After a moment, Professor Kettleburn murmured, 'well, I'd better be going,' and then hobbled off in the direction of the lesson he was first due to teach.

Many of the other teachers came over to congratulate him before they left the staff room. He half-expected Professor Sprout to want to ask him about Maura Lamb and why he'd thrown her out of his lesson yesterday, but instead she gave him a sunny smile and said that she wished he'd be happy wherever he went next.

'Have you any idea what you'll do after you've left Hogwarts, Severus?' said Professor McGonagall, as if he was an eager fifth year student who'd come to her for careers advice. 'What have you in mind?'

'There is one very important thing I must do,' he said slowly. 'After that... I don't know.'

'Well, what did you want to do when you first left school? What would your dream job have been?' asked Professor Sprout.

Snape's face took on a grim and forbidding countenance as he thought back to those days. The Dark Lord had required the services of a spy and a potions expert. Snape had been so deeply entwined in the affairs of Avery and Mulciber and their gang of junior Death Eaters that he'd never even thought of backing out.

'I didn't think I had a choice,' he said bleakly.

* * *

><p>In the afternoon of the same day, there was an incident in Snape's fifth period class of third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. It was memorable for two reasons: firstly, it involved Nymphadora Tonks; although Snape was, by now, starting to have serious misgivings about asking the Tonks family to foster Harry Potter, it was still on his list of potential options; and secondly, afterwards, Snape was aghast at how close he'd come to letting something dreadful happen.<p>

As soon as the two dozen students had entered his classroom, Snape had sensed an unusual tension in the mood of the group; they were on edge; they reminded him of frightened animals scurrying to shelter before a thunderstorm. Except that there were a few who had assumed a vicious, predatory attitude; they reminded him of scavengers looking for easy meat. It was unsettling to see young teenagers behaving like that, and he knew it would mean trouble.

Snape was having difficulties of his own. He was sunken in gloom, unable to rise up out of the depths of his depression. He felt an aching sense of alienation and unreality, as if he was disconnected from the events that took place in his classroom, as if nothing he could do would make any difference. It didn't matter. And he didn't care.

The students must have noticed the dull, lifeless tone in his voice as he explained what was planned for this lesson. But they didn't say anything about it.

Actually, the majority of students seemed jarringly quiet, setting up their cauldrons and meekly following Snape's instructions without speaking more than a few words to one another. Snape had gotten used to a certain low level of hubbub in his lessons. Oh, he often wished that students would shut up and concentrate on what they were doing, especially when they were handling dangerous substances, but he accepted (albeit grudgingly) that some exchange of ideas between the students was an aid to learning. This tense silence worried him more than he cared to admit.

He had no idea of what was going on. If he'd had to hazard a guess, he would have guessed that a few of the students had gotten embroiled in some bitter inter-house feud and they'd brought their quarrel with them into his classroom, while the other students were keeping their heads down and trying not to make themselves into targets.

The unfortunately named Nymphadora Tonks was taking some time in setting out her equipment. She was a metamorphmagus, able to mould and reshape her physical appearance to an extent. Normally, she was a bold and boisterous girl, displaying bright colours in her hair or making her face into ridiculous carnival mask shapes for the enjoyment of her friends. Many times, Snape had had to tell her to "be quiet" and get on with her work.

Currently, her hair was a dreary grey and her facial features were blandly indistinct. She was quiet, and she was slowly getting on with her work; she also didn't seem to have many friends. They were giving her a wide berth. Lily had once tried to explain to Snape that the social lives of teenage girls were a tangled web of manipulations, rumours and deceptions (at least, that was his interpretation of what she'd told him; he might not have understood properly).

He had no real desire to comprehend the dizzyingly complex political system that somehow decided who was currently 'best friends' with whom, which girls were not speaking with one another, and who was popular and who was not. However, he was aware that Tonks was usually a very popular and gregarious girl. He wondered why her friends had abandoned her, why she was being ostracised. What had happened? Were they punishing her for something that she had done, that she hadn't done, or that they imagined she'd done? Or did they need no reason for malice?

Tonks got up to collect some fairy wings from the communal box of ingredients that Snape had set out for this lesson. While she was wandering across the dungeon, Snape kept an eye on her workbench to make sure that no one messed it up, or stole or hid any of her things; this ominous atmosphere in the classroom was making him paranoid. Given some of the venomous looks that some of her fellow students were shooting in her direction, he thought it likely that Tonks would be the victim of any mischief that occurred. He was correct.

When Tonks passed close by her workstation, Vivian D'Aubrey took the opportunity to trip her up and push her into the wall. Tonks smacked her head against the cold stone, sprained the wrist of her right hand when she reached out to break her fall, and then collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap. Snape saw all of this out of the corner of his eye; he had been standing at the front of the classroom, surveying it in its entirety.

'Detention, Miss D'Aubrey,' he said coldly, 'six o'clock, tonight. And you will apologise to Miss Tonks.'

Miss D'Aubrey didn't look at him. She turned to issue an appeal to her fellow students. There was a mocking sweetness in her voice.

'I didn't do anything,' she said. 'You know Tonks. She's such a klutz.'

Snape had hurried over to offer a hand to Miss Tonks, seeing that none of her fellow students seemed inclined to lift a finger to help her. He glanced up sharply.

'Twenty points from Ravenclaw,' he growled. 'Apologise.'

Snape helped Tonks to her feet. She was shivering, there were tears pricking at her eyes, and he could see the makings of a livid bruise on her forehead.

Smiling nastily, still paying Snape no attention- it was as if she refused to acknowledge the evidence of his existence- Miss D'Aubrey stalked over to where Tonks was standing, invading her personal space, whispering in her ear: 'I'm sorry, Nympho. Sorry you're such a-'

Interrupting her, Snape said hoarsely, 'Miss D'Aubrey, gather your belongings, get out of my classroom and don't come back.'

Not once did Vivian D'Aubrey look at Snape while she was clearing her workstation, packing her bag and, finally heading for the door. She didn't speak. It was a new experience for him and it left him feeling rather shaken.

After several attempts, Snape managed to find a gentle tone of voice with which he could say to Tonks: 'do you need to go to the hospital wing?'

'I'm okay,' Tonks said, blinking back tears. 'I'm okay.'

'Are you sure?'

'I'm okay,' she said, as if saying it enough times could make it true. She refused to be forced out of the lesson by bullies. Snape respected her courage; however, he wished that she would temper it with wisdom, or discretion. He let her go back to her workstation and carry on.

However, while Snape's attention had been diverted, someone had taken the opportunity to sabotage Tonk's preparations. Tonks went scrabbling on the floor, frantically trying to gather up some of her ingredients that had been scattered and trodden into the dirt.

Snape slowly turned his head to glare at everyone else in the room. 'A mean, cowardly trick,' he said. 'Tell me who did this. Make it easier on yourselves.'

No one moved. There was an uneasy silence.

Snape waited until Tonks was in a position where she wouldn't bang her head if she looked up suddenly before he said: 'Miss Tonks, don't do that. I will supply you with replacement ingredients.'

He couldn't muster any warmth or reassurance in his voice. He felt almost as if he was watching himself from the other end of a long, dark tunnel. He was drifting, far away. Even his thoughts took a moment to cross that vast, cold expanse.

'If I find out who did this, I will make sure that person is severely punished,' he said, after some time had passed and it seemed clear no one seemed to want to confess to any wrongdoings.

With his Legilimency, Snape could easily find out who the culprit was. Snape knew he wasn't supposed to use Legilimency on students except in dire circumstances and with parental consent, but how would anyone find out? Who would know?

It would be easy. But it would be wrong. He'd be proving himself unworthy of Dumbledore's trust. And for what? Convenience?

The majority of students didn't look up from their cauldrons, heads bent over their work, maintaining a conspiratorial silence, apparently taking no notice of what he'd said. Although- actually- there were a couple of exceptions; briefly, he saw panic-stricken spasms of anguish and guilt in the faces of Felicity Heckle and Reshmi Choudhary.

They were Tonks's friends, weren't they? Snape had often seen them sitting together at the Hufflepuff table at mealtimes. He was sure that they couldn't have had anything to do with the sabotage of Tonks's ingredients: their cauldrons were set up over on the other side of the classroom.

In previous lessons, they had been somewhere else, Snape vaguely remembered; his standard policy was to let his students set up wherever they liked so long as they didn't cause an obstruction or a health hazard and they behaved themselves. It was probably too late to change that policy now.

He considered holding back Miss Heckle and Miss Choudhary after the close of the lesson, and then asking them to give him an explanation for the class's behaviour. A pair of silly Hufflepuff girls: they'd soon crack under pressure.

It was what he'd do if he didn't find out before then who was responsible for trashing Tonks's workstation.

When he went to fetch Miss Tonks's replacement ingredients from the store cupboard, he heard some mutters and whispers from the other members of the class. This situation was starting to feel horribly familiar to him. He remembered another class of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, much like this one. He had been condemned for his failure to act to prevent a disagreement from coming to blows. He was still on probation for that.

At the time, he had been aware of what was going on in his classroom, but he'd felt paralysed, powerless to act. He had been stricken by a sense that none of this really mattered. The choices he made were meaningless. His actions couldn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things. His feelings of dissociation, of alienation, of helplessness, had become unendurable.

He hadn't been able to break out of his stupor in time. And so he had let it happen, without really meaning to, without having any conscious idea of what he wanted or what he was doing. He had looked away for a second and, when he looked back, there was shouting and screaming, curses flying through the air and blood on the floor...

It was happening all over again. Severus Snape wasn't a Seer, and he had never bothered to study Divination. It wasn't some mystical premonition that warned him of how badly things were going to get; it was one of the benefits of bitter experience. He was sensitive to the atmosphere in his classroom; there was a deadly tension in the air and, before long, it would erupt in shocking violence. That was how it had happened before.

He returned from the store cupboard, he saw Swithun Smith had turned around; he was sneering at Tonks, muttering to her. She was staring at the wall, failing to ignore him; she was shaking, her hair was tangling itself up in knots, and her face had taken on a gaunt and hollow appearance. Smith smiled maliciously, glad that his words were having such an effect.

Snape hesitated. Swithun Smith was one of Tonks's fellow Hufflepuffs. Snape would not have expected such behaviour from a member of the House that most prized comradeship, loyalty and solidarity. If members of Tonks's own House had turned against her, it was clear evidence that something was seriously wrong,

This whole situation had taken on a muddled, dream-like quality. Snape felt as though he was watching in slow motion, his senses acutely magnified so he could perceive every detail; he felt almost as if he was being toyed with, taunted for his inability to take action. He opened his mouth and no sound came out.

He heard Smith say, in a contemptuous tone: 'proud of your mud-licking mother, are you, Nympho?'

Anger was an old friend to Severus Snape. It had sustained him throughout many ordeals, tragedies and torments. He had drawn strength from it when he had been most desperate. Now, a surge of incandescent fury smashed aside the doubts and insecurities that had been dragging him down, snapping him out of his fugue. He took a deep breath, stepping forth.

Nymphadora Tonks had been boiling water in her cauldron, ready for when she could add the other ingredients; she was gamely trying to carry on with the set task, not wanting to fall too far behind her classmates. She dipped a ladle in the boiling water; she was fantasizing about what it would be like to splash it all over Swithun's smug, stupid face...

'Tonks. Put down that ladle,' Snape croaked. She dropped it, flushing red, guiltily.

Smith sniggered.

With elaborate care, Snape laid down his armful of ingredients upon Tonks's desk. Then he rounded on Smith, scowling at him.

'Mr. Smith,' Snape said fiercely. 'I cannot give you sufficient punishment for what you've just said or for how you've behaved. Therefore, I will refer the matter to the Headmaster and to your Head of House, and they will decide upon fitting punishments for your crimes.'

He stared at Swithun Smith's suddenly ashen face. No doubt the boy had not realised there would be consequences to his actions. Thirteen year olds rarely did.

Snape checked his watch. There were approximately thirty-five minutes left of the lesson, but he had become conscious of the fact that he didn't care. The atmosphere in this class was hardly conducive to learning; he doubted that any of the students were paying attention to their work and not to the ongoing drama surrounding the unfortunate Miss Tonks. He came to a decision.

'That's enough,' he snapped. 'Get this place cleaned up and then clear off. Get out of my classroom, all of you, go on.'

At first, there were only a few, tentative movements as many of the students in the class shifted uneasily, not entirely sure of what was going on; then, as Snape's words began to sink in, there was a sudden rush to finish the cleanup as quickly as possible and then leave.

'Stay behind, Miss Tonks,' said Snape. 'Sit down. I'd like to talk to you.'

Tonks had been emptying out her cauldron. She had an anxious, furtive look about her. She hurried back to her desk and sat down, dropping the cauldron with a loud clang; she winced at the noise.

Snape waited until everyone else was gone from the dungeon before he said to Tonks, 'let me see your arm: the right one.'

Gingerly, she held out her injured right arm. Snape gave it a cursory examination. There wasn't much to see: a few nascent bruises and a graze where she'd scraped off some of the skin on her palm.

'How painful is it?' he asked.

'I'm okay,' Tonks murmured.

'That's not what I asked,' Snape said patiently. 'How's your head?'

He saw that there was a livid red mark and some swelling where Tonks had banged her head against the wall. He regretted not sending her to the Hospital Wing straight away; head injuries of any kind were not something to take chances with. It had been irresponsible of him; he hadn't been thinking clearly at the time, but that was no excuse.

There weren't any other obvious signs of injury, but Snape thought it safest to leave that for Madam Pomfrey to decide. Tonks didn't appear drowsy, or confused; as far as he could tell, she wasn't suffering from memory loss and, thus far, she hadn't had any problems with walking. He could be reasonably certain that she wasn't suffering from any of the more obvious symptoms of concussion. He asked a few more questions, just in case.

'How are you feeling? Dizzy, at all?' he asked. 'Were you hurt anywhere else?'

'Nah. Mum says my head's made of rubber. I've had much worse knocks than that and I've bounced back.' She gave him a tight smile. 'Er... bruised my knee as well, landing like that. I'm okay, though.'

'Do you want a Pain Relieving Draught?'

In spite of her marvellous shapeshifting talent, Tonks's face was easy to read. He saw her stubborn pride vying with pain. At last, the pain was just too much, and her pride crumbled.

'Please, sir, if you would,' she mumbled.

On his desk, Snape kept a first aid kit that contained a few basic remedies and some restorative potions, just in case. He rummaged through the contents of the box, pausing just for a second as his fingertips brushed over the lid of a small vial of Felix Felicis (Snape's reasoning for keeping a bottle of liquid luck in his first aid kit was thus: if any of his students had a disastrous accident, he'd force-feed them the potion to give them the best possible chance of survival.) He found the bottle of Pain Relieving Draught, and a spoon.

'Ugh,' Tonks said when she'd had her spoonful of Pain Relieving Draught, making a disgusted face (which was something that, as a metamorphmagus, she was well equipped to do). 'That tastes vile.'

'Most medicinal potions do,' Snape agreed, 'it's so that you wouldn't be tempted to drink them if you weren't already suffering.'

He waited another few seconds before asking her, 'how do you feel now? And don't say "I'm okay".'

'Um. Not so bad.'

He picked up her schoolbag and hefted it over his shoulder. 'Alright then,' he said. 'I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing.'

'You don't have to do that,' she muttered. 'I'll be fine.'

He sighed. 'Tonks, it's my duty to keep you safe in my lessons. Don't argue with me.'

Meekly, she got up and began to walk, hunching her shoulders and staring down at the floor. Snape matched his pace to hers, walking alongside.

Felicity Heckle and Reshmi Choudhary were waiting outside the classroom, looking anxious and flustered.

'Tonks! Are you okay? We were so worried!'

'I'm so sorry... I couldn't...'

'Wotcher,' Tonks said, without enthusiasm. 'Hey, I...'

'You were worried, were you?' Snape said icily. Both girls seemed startled to see him, as if they hadn't noticed him before; Tonks was the focus of all their attention. 'Fine friends you are. Tonks was being physically and verbally assaulted and you did nothing. You didn't want to know.'

They both squirmed. He was pleased to see them looking so ashamed of themselves.

'It was wrong, what we did,' said Miss Choudhary softly. 'We are sorry, Tonks... really sorry.'

'We want to help!' said Miss Heckle. 'We do!'

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't be angry with them. Anger had deserted him; instead, he felt drained and exhausted.

'You can help by going to your Head of House and telling to her everything that has happened, as truthfully and in as much detail as you can,' he said. 'Help us sort out this mess.'

'Um...'

'We'll do it,' Miss Choudhary said gratefully. 'Come on, Fliss.'

'Bye, Tonks.'

'Bye!'

They both fled, hurrying away as fast as their legs could carry them. They seemed anxious to get far away from Snape's disapproving scowl.

'No running in the school corridors,' Snape called after them; they slowed their pace to a brisk walk until he was out of sight.

'Er, heh,' Tonks said, scratching her head, making a noise that was something like a sad and lonely chuckle. Her hair was now shoulder-length, curly brown. 'They're good friends. Yeah.'

Snape gave her a questioning look.

'I don't blame them,' she muttered. 'Reshmi's Muggle-born; she didn't want to be their next target. Fliss, well, she's frightened of her own shadow.' She frowned. 'I wouldn't have wanted them to get hurt because of me.'

'Kindness, loyalty and steadfastness,' Snape mused. 'Yes, you're a Hufflepuff alright.'

Tonks blushed, somewhat abashed; she hadn't expected to be complimented by a teacher she'd always found quite intimidating.

They set off again. While they were walking, Snape was determined to keep the conversation going; partly so that he'd notice immediately if she started slurring her words or babbling incoherently, but mainly because he still had no idea why D'Aubrey and Smith had attacked Tonks like that and he hoped she would enlighten him.

'I didn't expect Pure-blood nonsense to come from one of your fellow Hufflepuffs,' he said, watching Tonks's face for her reaction; she grimaced.

More Muggle-borns were sorted into Hufflepuff than into any of the other Hogwarts Houses, Snape knew. Some Pure-Bloods were sorted into Hufflepuff, but ideas of Pure-blood superiority were weeded out quite quickly; Professor Sprout didn't tolerate bigotry or anything else that might be a source of discord in her House. As an ideal, Hufflepuffs tended to prize equality, camaraderie, teamwork and cooperation. Professor Sprout was very good at encouraging the members of her House to work and play together and to offer help and support to those who needed it.

'Had an argument with a Slytherin, t'other day,' Tonks mumbled. 'Melisande Spindleston's her name- Swithun fancies her.'

'Melisande Spindleston?' Snape asked. He didn't need to ask; as the former Head of Slytherin House, Snape knew exactly who she was talking about; he was prompting her to keep going. 'They call her "Smellisande" because she often wears that sickly perfume?'

Tonks gave him the shadow of a grin. 'Yeah, that's her.'

'What happened, exactly?'

'Um...'

Tonks shuddered. She stopped walking and was staring down at her feet. He could see tears welling up in her eyes.

'Was that how this all began?' Snape asked.

She gave a barely perceptible nod.

Snape was thoughtful for a moment. 'Miss Tonks,' he said formally. 'As far as I'm concerned, you've been treated abominably badly by some of your classmates. I want to help you. But, if I'm to do that, I need to know what's been going on; I need you to tell me everything.'

He looked around. There was nobody about. Elsewhere, there were lessons going on, still. 'Let's keep walking,' he said. 'We're nearly there.'

At first, Tonks didn't say anything but, after a while, she blurted out, 'Melisande said it was a shame how some of the scions of prominent and prestigious Pure-blood families-' Tonks sounded like she was mimicking someone else's voice, snooty and sneering. '-Had stooped so low as to marry m-m-mu-'

'I am aware of the word,' Snape said. 'Carry on, Tonks.'

'She said she was sorry my mum was so... so ugly and stupid that no Pure-blood man wanted her. I laughed and said I was lucky 'cos the Blacks were so inbred that if it hadn't been for the injection of some fresh blood into the family line, I might been born with deformities or... um, I pulled some faces to show her what I meant, and-'

Snape listened as she told him what had happened after that. It went like this: rumours about Tonks's conversation with Melisande Spindleston had travelled around the school but her words had been distorted, probably by someone with malicious intent.

Before long, almost everyone had heard that Tonks had said that Pure-bloods were all inbred and physically repulsive. Pure-blood members of Hufflepuff House had started avoiding her. People she'd never even met before had been coming up to her and haranguing her. Even her friends had seemed hesitant to defend her. No one had been interested in hearing her side of the story.

'A lot of Pure-bloods seemed like they were taking it as a personal insult,' Tonks said. 'Vivian D'Aubrey, she's Pure-blood and proud of it. Swithun Smith, yeah, he's Pure-blood, but I think he just wanted to suck up to Melisande. Er...'

Snape would have been amused if he wasn't so appalled. 'There are no good reasons for what they did,' he said. 'But that's ridiculous.'

They walked on, for a little while.

'What's going to happen, Professor Snape?'

'I'll have to arrange meetings with the Heads of Houses and the Headmaster,' Snape said, thinking aloud. 'They'll want to interview some of the other students. I expect there'll be letters home, House points deducted, the worst offenders will serve a couple of week's detention-' He smirked. 'Don't look so worried, Tonks. If you've done nothing wrong, you've nothing to fear.'

'I know. It's just-' Tonks stopped mid-sentence, frowning. She looked confused, as though she had forgotten what she had been going to say.

They were within sight of the Hospital Wing, by now.

'Professor Snape?' Tonks said timidly.

'Yes?'

'Will you get into trouble for cancelling the lesson and telling everyone else to clear off?'

Snape wanted to laugh, but he couldn't remember how to. 'No,' he said. 'I think the Headmaster will understand.'

He thought about it, as he pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing. 'I'll arrange a catch-up session for next Monday night,' he decided. 'Attendance will be voluntary, but I'd like to see the entire class there, if it's at all possible.'

'I'll be there,' Tonks promised.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over to them. 'Professor Snape, what's happened? Oh...'

To Tonks, she said: 'Tonks, I had hoped I wouldn't see you again so soon. How did you hit your head this time?'

'Someone pushed her into a wall,' said Snape. 'Also, she's sprained her wrist and bruised her knee, so I thought I'd bring her to you in case her injuries are any worse than that. I gave her a Pain Relieving Draught.'

'Did you?' Madam Pomfrey looked surprised and mildly impressed. 'Well, you've done the right thing, Professor.'

She went back to fussing over Tonks.

Snape watched for a while. He knew that Tonks was in good hands. She would be okay.

He had to arrange a meeting with the Heads of Houses, Professors Sprout, Vector and Flitwick, with Professor McGonagall in her capacity as Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, and with the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. He would tell them everything he knew about what had happened with Tonks and the other students, and they would have to come up with an answer. It would be their responsibility to ensure that those who were guilty of serious wrongdoing would be punished and that, in general, the students all learned a lesson from this fiasco. It would be sorted out.

Later on, he had a great many detentions to oversee. Wednesday night had filled up rather quickly, in spite of the fact that he hadn't wanted to give out any detentions during his final three weeks at Hogwarts. Some students just didn't have the sense to know when to stop baiting him.

It had been a long, tiring day. And it wasn't over yet.

He felt pretty good about it.

* * *

><p><em>Notes: Of the chapters I've written so far, this one is probably the one that I most heavily based on my own experiences. Hmm. I leave it up to you to decide whether or not that's a good thing.<em>


	9. Consequences

_Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Harry Potter and I'm making no profit from this._

_Acknowledgements:Thanks to xXxMartelxXx and sarista wow for their advice and constructive criticism. Thanks to Arpad Hrunta for his continued support of my work._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Consequences<br>**

Snape went back to his office. There was a small fire burning in the grate, the work of one of the Hogwarts House Elves; the room would have been bitterly cold, otherwise. He stoked up the fire, grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece and tossed it into the flames.

'Professor Sprout!' he shouted. 'I would speak with you!'

He waited, unsure of how long it would take for her to respond or even if she would; he didn't know whether or not she would be in her office, but it seemed like a reasonable guess.

After a moment, a large shape appeared in his fire, revolving very fast. Then, Professor Sprout scrambled out of his fireplace, brushing the ash from clothes that were already stained with mud and plant juices, smiling up at him with her usual expression of amiable good nature.

'Yes, Severus?' she said. 'How can I help?'

'One of your Hufflepuffs is in the Hospital Wing,' Snape said, without preamble. 'I thought you'd like to know.'

'Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention,' she said, staring hard at him for a moment. 'Want to tell me what happened?'

Snape hesitated, taking a moment to organise his thoughts. He wanted to give Professor Sprout a coherent and well-ordered summary of what had happened and, for that, he needed some preparation.

When he spoke, his words were slow and careful, with each one in its proper place: 'in my last lesson, Nymphadora Tonks was tripped and pushed into a wall by one of the other students. She struck her head and sprained her wrist. After that, her ingredients were strewn on the floor and stamped on, and another student made derogatory comments about her mother. It was apparent to me that not one of the students was making an effort to learn or to carry on with the set task. Miss Tonks was the focus of their interest; they were waiting to see who else would play a cruel trick on her.

'For that reason, I cancelled the lesson and told them all to get out of my classroom, with Miss Tonks as the sole exception: I took her to the Hospital Wing. Along the way, I asked her why her classmates had been treating her so callously. She told me of how something she'd said had been distorted and exaggerated and, since then, many students had hated her for it. I left her in Madam Pomfrey's care, came back to my office and- well, you know the rest.'

He shrugged.

'Yes, that's the story as was told to me by two of my third years,' said Professor Sprout.

'Miss Heckle and Miss Choudhary?' Snape guessed. He'd not been confident that they would do as they had promised. Perhaps he had misjudged them.

'Indeed. They were hanging about outside the greenhouse until my lesson was finished, and then nothing would do until they'd told me all about what had happened in Potions,' said Professor Sprout, 'and before that, and how sorry they were that they hadn't been better friends to Tonks. A couple of times, I had to tell them to quiet down and stop talking at once. They were so het up about it!' She shook her head and smiled indulgently at that thought.

'Would you mind me asking what you intend to do about this?'

'I'll need to talk it over with the Headmaster,' said Professor Sprout, sucking in a breath through her teeth. 'Can't have bullying going on at Hogwarts, oh no. The ringleaders will have to be punished: letters sent home and all that. I'll give my usual speech about cooperation and friendliness and how "school life is difficult enough without making it harder for anyone else". That'll give them something to think about.'

Privately, Snape predicted that most of the students would be thinking, "I don't want to sit through that lecture again." If any of them changed their behaviour as a result of Professor Sprout's speech it would only be for that reason.

There was one student who hadn't yet been punished for his role in what had happened, a member of Hufflepuff House; Snape felt satisfied that he could pass the problem on to Professor Sprout.

'I heard Swithun Smith, one of your third years, ask Tonks if she was "proud" of her "mud-licking" mother,' he said with an expression of distaste. 'Before that, he must have said other things, but I didn't overhear. I told him that it wasn't within my power to punish him as he deserved; I would leave his punishment to you or the Headmaster.'

He had rarely seen Professor Sprout looking so serious. 'He'll be punished,' she nodded, grimly. 'I don't put up with that sort of thing.'

'I'll leave it to you,' said Snape.

'Right, I must go and see how Tonks is getting on. How was she, when last you saw her?'

'Nauseatingly cheerful,' said Snape. 'Madam Pomfrey said she'd be fine; there wasn't much wrong with her.'

'I'll go see her for myself, make a bit of a fuss,' said Professor Sprout, waddling over to the door. She paused, suddenly, as though she'd just remembered something. Then she turned, grinning at him. 'You're making a habit of kicking students out of your lessons, Severus.'

'That wasn't my intention, but it's an effective method of getting rid of disruptive influences,' Snape said sourly. 'If students can't bothered to learn, I don't mind if they're quiet and pretend that they're paying attention, but when they keep misbehaving and disturbing other students, I have to do something to stop them.'

He sighed. 'Do you want to know what happened with Miss Lamb, yesterday?'

'Not particularly,' said Professor Sprout, 'I already have an idea. Maura Lamb has been trouble in her other lessons as well. She needs to understand that very few people want to hear about how her boyfriend has been cheating on her, and that she certainly shouldn't talk about it while she's supposed to be listening to the teacher.'

'My thoughts exactly,' said Snape, relieved. It was easy to underestimate Professor Sprout, but she was far more perspicacious than he'd given her credit for.

'I do my best, not only to make sure my Hufflepuffs get the best academic results possible, but also to turn them into responsible and reasonable adults,' said Professor Sprout, frowning. 'With some of them, it's an ongoing process. It can take years.'

Snape had a sudden vision of Professor Sprout holding a pair of pruning shears, watching over her students with critical eyes, muttering: 'trim that bit. Just a snip, I think. Oh! That needs cutting right back.'

'Well, I'd better be off,' said Professor Sprout. 'Good afternoon to you, Severus.'

'And the same to you...' Snape hesitated; it seemed peculiar for him to be using Professor Sprout's given name, but she'd been calling him "Severus" this entire conversation. '... Pomona.'

She smiled at him and plodded off in the direction of the stairs. He returned to the fireplace; he had several more floo calls to make. As he wished to have only a short conversation with each staff member, he didn't call them all to his office; instead, he called Professor Flitwick's name first, sticking his head into the fire when the flame turned green.

Professor Flitwick was shocked and disappointed to hear of what Vivian D'Aubrey had done in Snape's lesson.

'I can't believe it!' he said. 'She's normally so well-behaved: a model student!'

'Believe it,' Snape said curtly. 'I deducted twenty points from Ravenclaw and gave her a detention tonight. I suggest that you talk to her as well. She wouldn't talk to me, and I haven't seen her since, so I can't be sure that she's very remorseful.'

'Why, yes, of course, I'll make sure of it,' Professor Flitwick assured him.

Snape also took this opportunity to give Professor Flitwick a summary of what Miss Tonks had told him along the way to the Hospital Wing. Flitwick looked sickened and promised that if anyone else from his House had been involved in Tonks's harassment, he would find out and they would be punished.

After that, Snape withdrew from the fireplace, letting the flames turn orange again, before he once again used the floo, this time to talk to Professor McGonagall. He then used his floo to call on Professor Vector, and then Professor Dumbledore. He told them all what had happened, what Tonks had told him, as much as he knew about what had been going on and who had been involved. They thanked him for alerting them to this problem; Professors McGonagall and Vector promised that they'd find out to what extent their Gryffindors or Slytherins had been involved; Professor Dumbledore was grieved to hear of bullying in his school, and he said that he'd pay a personal visit to Miss Tonks in the Hospital Wing.

'I'm not sure she'll still be there, Headmaster,' Snape warned him. 'Madam Pomfrey should have her fixed up by now. Her injuries weren't serious to begin with.'

'I can find out,' Dumbledore said. 'Well done, Severus.'

At last, Snape clambered back out of his fireplace and brushed himself down, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't be doing that again for a while. He went to wash his face; he was sure that it was blackened with soot.

He was in a thoughtful mood. The past couple of days had sharply reminded him of the fact that he couldn't afford to relax yet. No matter what plans he made, one or other of the students would get in the way; they would persist in doing cruel or stupid things, causing problems that he'd have to deal with. He still had two and a half weeks left of this job. There was still time enough for dozens of things to go horribly wrong.

Some of the students should be coming for their detentions soon. Until then, there was marking to do. Lots of marking...

* * *

><p>It was nearing the end of the day. He waved goodbye to the last of the students and told them to head back to their dorms before curfew. In his office, he checked that the lacewing flies were still stewing, and that the Potion of Non-Detection was the correct colour and consistency for this stage of its development, and then he sat down to rest his eyes for just five minutes.<p>

During their detentions, some of the students had scrubbed several layers of dirt and potions residue off the floor of the classroom (Miss Sockburn had been tentative, at first, but then she had bonded with the Gryffindor boys over their mutual hatred of Snape, and they'd given her some tips to help her along; she had worked well, after that). The floor looked thoroughly clean for the first time in ages. If he could keep it clean for just a couple of weeks, he'd feel fairly happy about handing the classroom over to the next incumbent. It wouldn't disgrace him.

The other students who had come to Snape for their detentions had been assigned to work through the backlog of records and incident reports that needed to be filed, and they had made some impressive progress, working on the dull, repetitive task with a speed and efficiency that surprised Snape. He hadn't needed to shout, or to tell any of them to get on with it, or threaten anyone with another detention if they didn't do it properly. They had all seemed cowed, Vivian D'Aubrey especially. She had murmured "sorry, Professor" as she came through the door; Snape then wondered what Professor Flitwick had said to her.

Those files could now be archived, and that would clear some space in Snape's office, for which he was thankful; he was determined to get the place smartened up before the arrival of the new Potions Master or Mistress. He didn't know whether Professor Dumbledore had succeeded in contacting any of the prospective candidates yet. He didn't know that the new Potions Master or Mistress would want to use this office; he or she might prefer to take one of the unused offices elsewhere in the castle. But it would make no difference. Snape wanted to leave his office looking tidy and well-ordered, without a trace to show that he'd ever been there.

He opened his eyes, stood up, and glanced around the room, deliberating. What would he take with him, when he left? What would he leave behind?

Snape was a man of austere tastes. There were no decorations in his office, and hardly any light; two or three candles were a sufficiency. Almost everything he owned had some practical use. The few things that didn't were of immense sentimental value to him. Was there anything he didn't want to take with him?

He would sort through his clothes and get rid of anything that was too threadbare, faded or old; he would buy replacements for those. He would take with him his writing materials, his chess set, his Potion-making equipment and his private store of Potion ingredients (some of which he'd gathered himself, others he'd purchased). He might as well take with him the few toiletries he had left in the bathroom. He'd take his old photo album that he kept locked in a drawer; he'd look through it, and then he'd take it home and (probably) hide it in a drawer and not look at it again for many years. He would take his small pile of certificates and qualifications: anything that might help him secure a new job. And then...

Was that all? Did he really have nothing else? It seemed a pathetic collection of worthless things, evidence of a wasted life. No, he was sure he must have forgotten something. It would come to him, in time.

He glanced around at the shelves on the wall. He'd built up a small collection of what would have looked to the casual observer like glass jars filled with slime of various colours. A few had bits of plant or dead animal suspended in the viscous fluid. To Severus Snape, these were reminders of unsuccessful experiments; once, he had fantasized that he could be in at the cutting edge of research- he could do something meaningful with his life- even if it was just a hobby.

Upon the shelves, lining the edges of the room, were the results of his failures. Those on the lower shelves were harmless. They simply didn't do anything, or their effects were so mild as to be barely perceptible. All of those on the higher shelves did something nasty, and Snape had added a dead animal part to each one of them as an extra bane to curiosity. Not even some of his boldest students had been foolhardy enough to drink what looked like brown sludge with a wizened monkey's paw floating in it.

On the highest shelf, out of reach of anyone who didn't have a stepladder, and warded against summoning spells, were those jars containing substances that Snape knew were deadly or caused irreversible transformations; they were the results of particularly embarrassing failed experiments.

For example, there was the Draught of Direful Dreams. Snape's idea had been quite simple: he'd shape an idea in his head, turn it into a nightmare, and add it to the potion. One or two drops, mixed in with someone's food or drink, would cause that person to later have that nightmare. Snape had thought the potion would be an excellent tool that a spy could use to sow confusion and dissent among his enemies: if he'd had it ready during the war, he could have caused the Death Eaters to have nightmares about attacking someone or something, so that then they'd be too afraid to actually attack; he could have made them dream that one of the others was going to betray and kill them; he would have fed their fear and paranoia until they all reached the point of self-destruction.

He hadn't meant the potion to be instantly fatal. And yet it was. Something had gone awry, somewhere in the process; Snape hadn't been able to figure out where he'd gone wrong. None of the animals he used as test subjects had survived.

Also, there was the Potion of Insight. This was a potion that Snape had put together based on knowledge gleaned from myths, legends and hearsay. There were many ancient stories of powerful wizards, and also muggle shamans, sages and medicine men, all of whom had used potions to commune with their gods. They had gained much wisdom and many insights from the visions they received while under the influence of these potions. At least, that was Snape's interpretation of the truth he imagined must be hidden at the heart of those old stories; he didn't have a god he wished to contact, but he was fascinated by the potions that those holy men had drank. What strange insights would he gain if he drank a potion like that?

The ingredients had been easy to find. Belladonna, thorn-apple, mandrake root, henbane, and others... finding them had not presented a problem. The problem was that they were all extremely toxic, and the combination of all of them made a deadly, slow-acting poison. Most of the ingredients were also hallucinogenic, and it was for this reason that Snape was sure that, if he had drank the potion, he would have had some very interesting visions as he slipped into a coma he would never wake up from. Of course, he could have taken an antidote, but the antidote would surely nullify the effects of the potion, rendering the entire exercise pointless.

Snape had wondered if some of the ingredients of the potion had been forgotten or missed out of the legends. He admitted to himself that it had been a vain hope that he could construct a mythical potion based on a mishmash of fragments of old stories; if it was that easy, someone else would have done it by now.

In the end, he'd put the jar of poison upon the highest shelf in his office, warded it against the most common spells that a curious student might use to manoeuvre it down from that high place, and then moved on to more promising projects (most of which had ended in dismal failure).

Would he bother to take any of these unsuccessful potions with him when he left Hogwarts? Did he need to surround himself with the dust of his shattered hopes and aspirations? Wasn't it past the time when he should have moved on with his life?

He wasn't ready to move on. Some small part of him refused to give in. He could still make it work, somehow.

* * *

><p>When Snape woke up on Thursday morning, he felt a creeping sense of nameless dread, and he didn't know why. He couldn't remember what he'd dreamed about that night. There was a wintry chill that had sapped the warmth from his flesh, even though he was cocooned in layers of bed sheets. His teeth were chattering. It was a struggle to get out of bed.<p>

He took a hot shower (again, it was a struggle to get out of) and managed to be up in the Great Hall in time for breakfast, a truly herculean feat for which he felt he deserved some kind of medal. However, no medal was in the offing, so he contented himself with tea and toast, sneaking the occasional glance around at each of the four long tables where the students were sitting. The students from Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw were all very quiet and subdued, while the students from Gryffindor were in a state of strangled excitement, scarcely daring to breathe. Snape glared at them; he was amused to see them shrink away from him, terrified.

Miss Tonks was once again seated at the Hufflepuff table, surrounded by her fair-weather friends. She seemed reasonably happy, but she wasn't talking as much, and she seemed more contemplative than before. The boys and girls hanging around her were trying too hard to be friendly, smiling and laughing at everything she said, speaking in tones of high-pitched excitement. Snape would have given their acting skills a grade of Satisfactory at best.

Tonks saw Snape looking in her direction. She gave him a cheery wave. In return, he gave her a stern, stony stare. She shrugged and went back to her pumpkin juice. He looked down at his toast and tried to listen to what Professor McGonagall was saying to him.

'-and that's why Gryffindor has the highest House point total, for the time being,' she said.

He turned to gaze directly at her. 'I beg your pardon?' he said.

'Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin were all deducted points because members of each House were involved in the harassment of Miss Tonks,' Professor McGonagall explained to him patiently. 'They have been told that more points will be deducted if it continues. No points were deducted from Gryffindor because we've been unable to find any evidence to suggest that anyone from Gryffindor was involved; in fact, most of them seemed honestly unaware of what had been going on. Therefore-'

Snape's mind raced. Slytherin House had had a massive lead over Gryffindor just yesterday. But now Gryffindor was ahead.

'Do you mean to tell me that Slytherin lost more than one hundred points because of this single incident?' he asked, incredulous.

'Oh, it's been more than a single incident,' Professor McGonagall said. 'Professor Vector deducted the points- yes, from her own House. She took twenty points from Melisande Spindleston for her role in initiating the whole debacle, ten points each from Mr. Tredinnick and Miss Palmer for their cruelty to Tonks, and then fifty points altogether from the members of Slytherin House who tried to tell her that what Miss Spindleston said was justifiable-' Professor McGonagall grimaced. '-because they said she shouldn't have points deducted for telling the truth about "that mud-licking blood traitor". And then they insulted Professor Vector when she refused to relent.'

'That comes to a total of ninety points,' Snape said. He had almost lost count near the end, when he had been greatly impressed by Professor McGonagall's ability to pronounce quotation marks.

'My Gryffindors have been awarded a lot of points in class, recently,' Professor McGonagall said triumphantly, 'by Professor Flitwick, Professor Kettleburn, and you, as a matter of fact.'

'I did that?' Snape was mystified. 'I'm sure I would have remembered.'

'You gave ten points to the Gryffindor fifth years at the end of yesterday's class,' Professor McGonagall reminded him.

'Ah, yes,' Snape groaned. He had tried to erase all thoughts of that class from his memory. Later that day, the incident with Miss Tonks had nearly completely driven it from his mind.

During yesterday's class, the Potion-making attempts of some of the Slytherin fifth years had been disastrous. One girl had set herself on fire (at least that had been an easy enough problem to solve, after he'd doused the flames) and several students had been stuck immovably to the floor after a careless spillage. Coming up with a counteracting agent had been a task that had required all of Snape's not inconsiderable ingenuity (especially since still he had no idea of exactly how the wretched boy had managed to turn his potion into glue), but Snape had succeeded before the end of the lesson. They were all freed, with no damage to any of them except to their pride.

He couldn't have done it if the Gryffindors hadn't been calm and well-behaved, and working steadily, over on their end of the classroom, without the need for their teacher's input. Most of the potions they'd made had exceeded his expectations, and he'd graded them accordingly. It had been miraculous: on every other day of this year, they'd been nothing but a sniggering bunch of dunderheaded clowns, and yet, on the one day when he'd really needed them to pass around the communal brain cell, stop messing around and just get on with their work, they had done it!

As a result, he had awarded ten points to Gryffindor, partly because he felt he owed it to them, but also as proof of how disappointed he was with the Slytherins.

These days, Snape liked to think of himself as a fair-minded man. But, if he was pressed, he would have had to admit that his prejudices and old loyalties still held some considerable sway over him. He hadn't expected his faltering attempts at even-handedness to come back to bite him, not like this.

Professor McGonagall was beaming at him. 'Gryffindor are in the lead for the House Cup for the first time in years,' she said. 'And it's all thanks to you, Severus. How does that make you feel?'

He glowered balefully at her. 'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' he said.

'Severus, if our situations were reversed, wouldn't you want to enjoy it?' She chuckled. 'Don't tell me you wouldn't be gloating right now.'

He gritted his teeth. He stared down at his plate. There was still half of a piece of toast that he hadn't been able to stomach.

'I...' He gulped. He took several deep breaths. At last, the power of speech was returned to him. 'I suppose that's fair,' he muttered.

Professor McGonagall patted him on the shoulder. 'All in all, the perfect end to your tenure at Hogwarts,' she said brightly. Snape wasn't sure whether she was deliberately needling him or if this was meant to be playful banter between colleagues.

He racked his brains for something scathing and witty to say. Nothing came to mind. In fact, it was worse than nothing: the first thing that had popped into his head was an urge to taunt Professor McGonagall about how she'd been deceived into leaving Harry Potter to be abused by his muggle relatives. He wasn't an utter fool, so he didn't succumb to impulse, especially not where hundreds of curious students might overhear. Actually, he had no desire to discuss Harry Potter's situation with Professor McGonagall, so he wouldn't mention it at all.

Instead, he plastered a sneer on his face, and said, 'I quite agree, Professor McGonagall. I can't imagine how my final weeks at Hogwarts could yet be improved- oh, yes, I can- Sirius Black could escape from Azkaban. Wouldn't that be wonderful?'

She looked at him carefully; she'd heard the bitterness in his voice, always a sure sign of danger. 'I have a lesson to teach. So do you,' she said. 'I'll be going now. You should too, if you've any sense.'

'Yes, I know. Goodbye,' Snape sighed. He got up out of his seat, turned around stiffly and loped out of the Great Hall without so much as a backwards glance. He'd need to hurry if he was to prepare for his first class.

* * *

><p>All dull things must come to an end, and Thursday was no exception.<p>

Snape had at first been relieved when his lessons hadn't turned out to be as catastrophic as Wednesday's, but that relief had brought with it a new problem: without tension, danger and the need to be constantly watchful, Snape had become acutely aware of just how bored and impatient he was. He was bored with this job and impatient to be anywhere else but here. Years of frustration had wearied him, made him bitter and cynical, and now he wanted it over with.

He wanted to see Harry again. Over these past few days, too many problems had gotten in the way of what was truly important, but not tonight. He came to a decision: late at night, when everyone was asleep, he would break into the Dursleys' house to talk to Harry.

It might have been madness that possessed him, but Snape didn't think so. He was tired of waiting and planning. He'd had enough of questioning his own motives, trying to figure out the underlying reasons behind each of his actions, wondering how much of his behaviour was pretence and whether he'd been lying to himself. He had spent too much time brooding; he wanted to take action.

He was intensely curious to find out what Lily's son- James's son, too, he had to remember- was really like. It would be Snape's first chance to talk to him face to face. He would be able to form an opinion based on the reality of the boy, and not on eyewitness accounts or speculation or one fleeting glimpse. He could stop wondering.

He called Effy the house-elf to his office and asked her to help him by making some food to take to Harry; he knew that the Dursleys didn't keep him well-fed. Effy would have brought him a magnificent five-course feast if he hadn't demurred; he wanted a small gift for Harry, something tasty and nutritious, not to overwhelm him.

'What about a sandwich?' Effy suggested. 'Master Professor Snape, sir?'

'Yes, that would do,' said Snape, considering. 'What kind of sandwich?'

'Chicken, sir. With a spicy sauce.' She beamed at him. 'Effy has just the recipe in mind!'

'That sounds fine,' said Snape after some deliberation. He didn't know whether Effy's recipe was one that would appeal to Harry, but if Harry was hungry enough then he would eat what he was given without complaint.

In no time at all, Effy had made him the sandwich and wrapped it up in special paper to keep it fresh and moist, and Snape had put it into his pocket. He was now walking to the edge of Hogwarts' grounds, on his way to find a place from which he could Apparate to Little Whinging. It was night time, so late that it was early in the morning. There was a full moon.

He gazed in the direction of Hogsmeade, to where the Shrieking Shack was perched on a hill. He thought of Lupin, transformed into a werewolf. He remembered a night, much like this one, a decade ago. He thought of the Marauders. They'd tried to kill him. They would have succeeded, too, if James Potter hadn't had a sudden attack of conscience.

He still hated them. That hadn't changed. He pretended that he'd changed, and sometimes he even fooled himself, but it was a sham. He was still the same person he had been so many years ago: more skilled and experienced, certainly; better at deceiving other people; he was such a gifted Occlumens that not even the Dark Lord himself had realised his disloyalty. But underneath all that, he was the same vengeful, vindictive person he had been when he was a fifteen year old boy.

That had been the original reason for his invention of the _Sectumsempra_ curse. He had wanted to hurt James Potter and Sirius Black, to scar them forever, as revenge for how they had tormented him. He had fantasized about it. He'd gleefully imagined James Potter's face crisscrossed with ugly scars.

'Let's see if you still get the girls flocking to you _now_, Potter!' he'd said, to the mirror, in his dorm room, when he'd been sure he'd been left alone with his fantasies. Sadly, it hadn't happened like that in real life. Nothing ever worked out the way he wanted it to, in real life.

Peter Pettigrew had been a spiteful coward, a cringing lickspittle, egging on the bigger boys to greater feats of cruelty and viciousness, laughing and clapping and telling them what fine fellows they were. That had been his role in the indignities that Snape had suffered at school. For revenge, Snape had wanted an opportunity to get Pettigrew alone and helpless, unarmed and with no hope of escape. He'd wanted to make Pettigrew to confess that he was worthless and cowardly and a disgrace to the name of wizard. He'd wanted to make Pettigrew _beg_ for mercy...

Well, it didn't matter now. Pettigrew was dead: blasted to mere fragments. His old friend, Sirius Black, was his murderer.

Snape had never been able to take much pleasure from that thought. If he had known, back when he was fifteen years old, that one of the Marauders would betray the others and end up killing one of them, he would have been delighted and greatly amused. But now, the memories of that day were too raw and painful for Snape to bear, because of what else had happened. He'd rather not be reminded of them.

He had planned revenge against each of the Marauders. Lupin was one of them. What had he planned for revenge against Lupin?

That had been difficult to decide. Lupin had never involved himself in the Marauders' cruel teasing of Snape, but neither had he intervened. He hadn't smiled, or laughed, or shouted encouragement; in fact, he hadn't said anything. He had been impassive.

Years ago, Snape had theorized that a suitable revenge against Lupin would have been to force him to watch what Snape did to his friends. What would Lupin have done if he'd seen Potter and Black bleeding on the floor, and Pettigrew begging Snape for mercy? Would he have held himself so aloof and expressionless, then? Would he have been so silent?

While he was lost in thought, Snape had walked to the far edge of the grounds, past the wards; he was ready to Disapparate. Then, he heard a cry on the wind, and he stopped to listen: it was an awful sound, a cacophony of shrieks, howls and screams, and it seemed to go on forever. It was the keening wail of a tortured soul echoing up from the depths of indescribable agony. It was Lupin.

Snape tried to swiftly calculate whether or not he was sufficiently close to the Shrieking Shack to be able to hear what was going on inside. He had a strong suspicion that he was much too far away. Perhaps it was all in his imagination.

What did it matter what revenge he'd planned for Lupin, all those years ago? Lupin was already suffering from a terrible curse that had ruined his life. What more could Snape do to him, even if he wanted to? _Did_ he want to?

Snape shivered. It was a cold night, and even with his thick coat he couldn't keep out the chill. He Disapparated.

* * *

><p><em>Note: I like that word, "direful". It's not a word that's used very often these days, but I think it sounds cool.<em>


	10. You're a Wizard, Harry!

**Chapter Ten: You're a Wizard, Harry!**

Snape materialised in Privet Drive. He looked around, making sure that the streets were empty and that there were no lights on in any of the houses. Then, he shrouded himself in a Disillusionment charm.

He wondered whether or not Dumbledore would come along in a few minutes to ask him what he thought he was doing. Had one of those silvery instruments in Dumbledore's office already detected the presence of Snape in the near vicinity of Harry Potter? How much time did he have left before Dumbledore came to stop him?

Taking a moment to consider each of his doubts, calmly and logically, he ruthlessly crushed them. Dumbledore had expressed regrets at the mistakes he'd made, and he'd promised to hand over the issue of Harry's guardianship to Snape. And Lupin, too, of course.

Snape had accepted that responsibility and everything that came with it. He refused to be constantly looking over his shoulder, craving Dumbledore's approval for his actions: he would do what he pleased, as he thought best, and if Dumbledore didn't like it- ah, well- it was no longer his concern. Snape was in control of the situation. He would make his own decisions.

No longer would he wallow in self-doubt and old regrets. He had thrown caution to the winds. He would pay Harry Potter a visit. For the first time, he would speak to the boy he'd sworn to protect.

He crossed the road to 4, Privet Drive, home of the Dursley family: Harry Potter's home, as well, temporarily. A wordless _Alohomora_ spell unlocked the front door for him. The burglar alarm was ludicrously easy to disable. But, of course, it hadn't been designed to be an obstacle to a fully grown wizard.

Snape bypassed the house's protections in a matter of a few seconds.

The blood wards that Dumbledore had warned him of gave him no trouble. In fact, their existence was never made palpable to him. He felt nothing out of the ordinary as he entered the house, or when he was inside. Perhaps it was because the blood wards were meant to keep Harry Potter safe from those who would do him harm; Snape intended nothing of the sort.

'_Oculi Felis,_' Snape muttered, closing his eyes and tapping his forehead once with the tip of his wand. When he opened his eyes, he could see almost as clearly as if by daylight. His eyesight was enhanced to the point that even a tiny amount of light was enough for him to see by. It was a useful spell for when he didn't want to be blundering about in the dark, and it had one crucial advantage over the Lumos spell: it was stealthy; it made no light that could be detected by anyone else.

Now, the darkness and the shadows concealed nothing from him; he was in no danger of tripping himself up on any of the toys that had been scattered about the place. Some of the toys were brand new, but it appeared that they'd already been crushed, dented or broken by a careless owner. Snape shook his head contemptuously. He hoped that Harry Potter wasn't to blame for this wastefulness. Thankfully, it didn't seem likely. The Dursleys hadn't bothered to buy clothes for Harry that properly fit him; they certainly wouldn't have bought expensive toys for him to play with.

Slinking stealthily through the Dursleys' house, with slow, deliberate footsteps, Snape was alert for any signs of potential danger. He thought it probable that the Dursleys were asleep, but he would leave nothing to chance. He set several soundproofing spells, in the hallway and in the kitchen, to make certain that he could converse with Harry in those areas and no one would overhear. The Dursleys would not be woken by a noise from downstairs.

He took a minute or two to roughly carve a rune into one of the balusters near the top of the stairs. When he was satisfied, he muttered an incantation over it: he had set up a temporary ward that should alert him as soon as anyone set foot on the stairs. If any of the Dursleys woke up in the middle of the night, and came downstairs, for any reason, he wanted to be forewarned.

Then, at last, when he was sure that his preparations were adequate, he turned his attentions to the cupboard under the stairs. He felt a shiver of apprehension. Lupin had told that the Dursleys locked Harry in the cupboard over night, but what if he had been mistaken? What would that do to Snape's carefully laid plans?

He cursed himself for a fool. He was behaving like a frightened rabbit. He was skittish, jumping at shadows; at the back of his mind there was the gnawing anxiety that any minor setback could turn into a major catastrophe. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, calm down, and stop trembling like a first year student on his way to a detention.

He tried to think realistically about what he was doing: at worst, finding out that Harry did not sleep under the stairs would be a momentary inconvenience. If he had to find Harry, it would be a simple matter. Setting up his soundproofing spells and warning ward somewhere else would only take a few moments. It did not have to be a problem.

The door to the cupboard under the stairs was locked: the key was in the lock. Snape unlocked the door and pulled it open, just a fraction. He peered through the gap, catching sight of a small shape curled up on the floor, covered in a raggedy blanket. A bundle of old clothes served as a makeshift pillow. Snape could see a mass of tousled brown hair and a small face pressed against the pillow, eyes closed, breathing deeply and resonantly.

Snape wasn't sure if he recognised the boy he'd seen just a couple of nights ago. He couldn't be certain. He reached down and delicately brushed back the boy's fringe until he could see the famous lightning bolt scar that was unmistakeably Harry Potter's. The boy stirred and murmured in his sleep, but did not wake up.

'_Lumos_,' Snape muttered, so softly that the light that shone from the end of his wand was no more than a faded glow. He removed his Disillusionment and Oculi Felis charms. This midnight visitation would seem extraordinarily strange: little Harry Potter would no doubt be frightened by the strange man waking him up in the middle of the night. Snape had no desire to make things any worse by appearing to Harry as a transparent, shadowy figure in the shape of a man, or when his eyes had taken on such an obviously non-human appearance (one of the drawbacks of the Oculi Felis charm was that it turned the user's eyes yellow or green and made them large, round and with slit pupils like a cat's).

'Harry,' said Snape in a hoarse whisper, 'Harry Potter.'

The light from his wand was enough that he could see the boy stirring to wakefulness. At first, Harry Potter screwed up his eyes against the dim light, mumbling something incoherent, pulling his thin blanket over his head as though he could hide himself beneath it.

'Harry, wake up.'

The boy groaned. Comprehension had slowly dawned upon him. 'S'it morning, already?' he said, fumbling for his glasses. Snape sighed to see that he had a pair of battered old glasses, evidently second or third hand, which had been snapped and then clumsily repaired with sellotape.

'I'm getting up!' said Harry, throwing off his blankets and scrambling to his feet. 'See, I'm up!'

'A commendable effort,' said Snape, 'but unnecessary.'

Harry glanced up, straightened his glasses, and saw Snape framed in the doorway; he saw little more than the dark shape of a tall, pale man in black clothes, holding a light in one hand.

'Wh- who are you?' said Harry, open-mouthed, so surprised that he almost forgot to be scared. 'What are you doing here?'

Snape felt tongue-tied. It was absurd, but here in the presence of a seven year old child, he couldn't think of what to say. He hesitated for what seemed like an age, but was probably only a few seconds, while his mind had gone blank.

'Er. My name is Severus Snape,' he said, at last. 'I was a friend of your mother's. I'm here to see you.'

'You knew my mum?' said Harry excitedly. Then he realised that it was the middle of the night and the Dursleys were probably asleep, so he lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Um, what time is it?'

'It's half past two,' said Snape, glancing at his wristwatch, 'after midnight.' He smiled slightly. 'And, yes, I knew your mother. She was...' He struggled for a moment to come up with words that would encompass everything that Lily was to him, finally gave up, and said lamely, 'she was good to me.'

Harry had the look of someone torn between fear, urgency and delight. He opened his mouth and then shut it again several times, before he eventually spoke. 'Do... do... Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia know you're here? Won't they be angry?' he said. Snape heard the note of dread in his voice when he mentioned his Uncle Vernon's name.

'They don't know I'm here,' said Snape. 'This can be our secret.'

'But what if they wake up?'

'I assure you: they won't.'

'How did you get in?' said Harry. Having overcome his initial apprehensions, he was a gushing fountain of questions. 'Are you a burglar?'

'Let's take this conversation into the kitchen,' said Snape, forcing a smile. 'Are you hungry, Harry?'

Harry shuddered. 'I'm not allowed in the kitchens at night time,' he said. 'Aunt Petunia doesn't want me stealing food. That's why-' He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, looking embarrassed. 'That's why they lock me in the cupboard at night. So I won't steal.'

'Have you ever stolen anything, Harry?' said Snape.

'No, I never!' said Harry indignantly. 'I wouldn't!'

'Then why does your Aunt accuse you of stealing?'

Harry looked down at the floor, shifting from one foot to the other, very uncomfortable. 'I dunno,' he said miserably.

'It's not your fault, Harry,' Snape sighed. 'Your Aunt and Uncle have been cruel to you, and you've done nothing to deserve it.' He drew a breath, and when he spoke again there was fierce anger in his voice. 'They tell lies, don't they? They say you're lazy and ungrateful and a burden to them, but-'

He knew that if he began to rant about how much Harry helped around the home, slaving away like a house-elf while the Dursleys' own son, Dudley, did nothing but sit about on his arse all day, he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He could keep going for hours.

Furthermore, he strongly suspected that the Dursleys were happy to claim Child Benefits and a Guardian's Allowance for looking after Harry. It was their right, after all, and no one would think any less of them for accepting the money they were entitled to. But that money should have been spent on Harry's upkeep, and it was plain to Snape that the Dursleys had done nothing of the sort: probably they'd taken the money and spent in on their loathsome son.

He bit back on that argument for several reasons: firstly, he wasn't entirely sure of the facts. He had been disconnected from the muggle world for a number of years; he only had a vague idea of what was going on, what laws had been passed and how the country was being run. He thought it unlikely that the laws of the United Kingdom would have changed so much that they'd be unrecognisable to him, but he liked to be certain. He would take a closer look at the Dursleys' finances. Or Lupin could do it.

Secondly, he had come here to spend time talking to Harry, and indignant blustering about the abusive and criminal behaviour of the Dursleys was not a wise use of his time. Harry might enjoy it, until Snape's endless list of the Dursleys' wrongdoings bored him to tears, but there were far more pleasant things they could be talking about.

Thirdly, he was angry, but his anger was not directed at Harry. He would do well to save his anger for his confrontation with Vernon and Petunia Dursley. He was unsure of when that confrontation would take place, but he found himself imagining what he would say to them, how he would strip away their layers of deceit and verbally rip them to shreds. He was quite looking forward to it.

'You shouldn't be blamed for things you haven't done, Harry,' he said, feeling sick to the stomach. He was aware of his hypocrisy: how many times had he punished Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws (but usually Gryffindors) when there had been no real proof that they'd done anything wrong?

Harry nodded forlornly. He didn't meet Snape's gaze.

'Come on, Harry,' Snape said, walking to the kitchen and turning on the light. 'Do you want a drink?'

Hesitantly, Harry followed him into the kitchen, blinking in the sudden brightness. At the offer of a drink, he shifted uneasily and said, 'no, thank you, sir.'

'All right,' Snape grunted. He pulled out a chair so that Harry could sit down at the table.

'How come you know so much about me?' said Harry slowly. His head was buzzing with questions, so many that he had no idea of where to begin. He was floundering. 'I've never seen you before. Where'd you come from?'

'I'm magic,' said Snape. A flicker of a smile crossed his face. 'Can you believe that, Harry?'

'Um...'

Harry looked distrustful. He shrugged his shoulders. 'Uncle Vernon says there's no such thing as magic,' he mumbled.

'Another lie,' said Snape. He paused. 'Harry, I'm sure I can trust you not to tell the Dursleys- or anyone- about my visit. Also, I must ask you to promise that you won't tell anyone what I am about to tell you. Will you do that for me?'

'Yes, sir, I promise,' said Harry, his eyes shining. No one had ever trusted him with a secret before. He certainly wouldn't tell the Dursleys. He knew how they'd react: Aunt Petunia would go very pale and quiet, and Uncle Vernon would yell at him for making up stories. And there wasn't anyone else he could have told, even if he'd wanted to. It wasn't as if he had any friends. Dudley had seen to that.

'Very good,' said Snape. He took a deep breath. 'Magic is real, Harry. There are witches and wizards, fairies and unicorns, dragons and trolls: all of these things exist. Ordinary people, such as your Uncle Vernon-' He sneered. '-live out the entirety of their dull, humdrum little lives without ever realising that, just out of sight, there is another world, a hidden world, where there are creatures out of mythology and people with fairytale powers. That's where I come from.

'And that's where you come from, Harry. Your mother and father were a witch and a wizard. You have inherited their magical powers.' He paused, relishing the expression of utter amazement on Harry's face.

He smirked. 'You're a wizard, Harry.'

'Wow!' said Harry. He was gobsmacked. He covered his mouth with both hands and his eyes were so wide that they looked almost as if they were about to pop out of his head. 'Cool...'

Snape waited for the little boy to recover his wits. It took a minute or so.

'Please, sir, show me some magic!' said Harry, in a begging tone. He had accepted Snape's assertion remarkably quickly, without questioning it, but he needed proof. 'Please.'

'Hand me your glasses,' Snape said without hesitation. He had been planning to do this for a while.

Cautiously, Harry removed his glasses and sat gazing short-sightedly at Snape until the spell was cast.

'_Reparo_,' said Snape, tapping the bridge of the glasses once with his wand. The glasses were old and of poor quality. The bridge had been snapped and it had been crudely fixed with sellotape, until Snape cast the Mending Charm: now, the bridge's two broken ends had been joined as one seamless whole, almost as good as new.

However, elsewhere, Harry's glasses were marked with countless tiny dents, nicks and scratches, and Snape thought that it was a shame he couldn't do much about them. There was a simple solution to this problem: Harry desperately needed a new pair of glasses.

'Here,' said Snape, handing Harry's glasses back to him: they would have to suffice, for now. 'Is that an improvement?'

'Yes! Thank you, mister!' said Harry excitedly, putting his glasses back on, smiling at the fact that, for once, they weren't in any immediate danger of falling to pieces.

'Would you like to see some more magic, Harry?' said Snape. Actually, it occurred to him that the boy hadn't really _seen_ any magic yet: without his glasses, had he been able to see Snape casting the Mending Charm? How bad was his eyesight, really?

Harry grinned enthusiastically. 'Yes, please.'

Snape considered what to do. It would have to be a visually impressive spell. He wanted Harry to be absolutely convinced that it was magic, with no room for misgivings or the possibility that it was all a clever hoax.

Ah, he had an idea: it was something he'd done quite recently, so it shouldn't give him any trouble.

Snape transfigured Harry's seat (a chair made of pine wood) into a comfortable, padded armchair. Harry was so surprised that he fell backwards against the cushions and lay still for a moment, wide-eyed and breathless.

'Get up, Harry,' said Snape impatiently.

'That was amazing!' Harry gushed. He bent down to examine the armchair as if looking to see what the trick was. 'How...?'

'It's called Transfiguration, Harry. You've heard tales of wicked witches turning people into frogs and newts?'

Harry looked blank. 'Do witches do that?' he asked.

'No, they don't,' said Snape. He frowned. 'Women with the ability to use magic are called witches,' he explained. 'Your mother was a very powerful witch.'

'Did she turn people into frogs?'

'She had her bad days,' said Snape sardonically. He quickly amended his statement when Harry seemed unsure of what he meant: 'No, your mother wouldn't do that. She didn't hurt people. She...' He hesitated. 'She was very kind.'

'Oh,' said Harry, somewhat disappointed. He had been very much intrigued by the thought of turning people into frogs. He had thought Dudley Dursley might make a much nicer frog than he did a human being.

Snape drummed his fingers on the table. 'So, that's Transfiguration,' he said, indicating the armchair Harry was now sitting on. 'Simply put, Transfiguration is the art of using magic to alter the form or physical properties of an object.'

'Right,' said Harry sceptically. It didn't sound very "simple" to him.

'But there are other branches of magic,' said Snape, holding out his wand. 'Let me show you one of them.'

Harry leaned forward in his chair, excited to see some more magic. Snape concentrated on the happiest memory he could think of: when he had been a child, sitting with Lily under the shade of the trees on a warm, sunny day, as she poured out her hopes and dreams for the future; she had trusted him like no one else. It was a sweet memory now tinged with bitterness; Snape didn't have any happy memories that hadn't been steeped in regrets.

With iron self-discipline, Snape set aside his feelings of grief and loss, concentrating on his happy memory, thinking of nothing else.

'_Expecto Patronum!' _he cried. A shining white, ethereal creature leapt out of the end of his wand, galloped around the kitchen and then slowed to walking pace as it approached the table.

'It's beautiful,' said Harry admiringly, reaching out a hand to stroke the Patronus when it was close enough.

'Yes, isn't she?'

'It's a girl deer?'

'Harry, a girl deer is called a doe,' Snape said with a twisted smile. 'Haven't you seen The Sound of Music?'

'Um, no,' said Harry. 'Uncle Vernon doesn't let me watch girly stuff.'

Snape was surprised, though he knew he should not be. One of the few memories he had of his muggle grandmother (his father's mother) was that the old woman had watched the video of The Sound of Music on a continuous repeat. At least, that was how Snape remembered it: his memories of his early life were so jumbled and faded that, even with Legilimency, he could extract only a few fragments. He couldn't be sure that what he remembered was wholly real: it had been so long ago: he didn't doubt that he'd unconsciously warped some of his memories to fit his prejudices.

Nevertheless, judging by the standards of his own weird and unpleasant childhood, Snape thought it bizarre that anyone could live for years in a muggle household without having seen The Sound of Music. Er, was that so unusual? Snape had to admit that he didn't really know.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he stuck his hand inside the Patronus. He had only wanted to stroke it, but there was no real substance to the ethereal creature: his hand had passed through it before he'd realised what had happened. He glanced guiltily at Snape, the words of an apology on his lips. 'I-'

He stopped. There was a pleasant, tingling sensation in his hand where he had touched the Patronus. It was a wonderful feeling of warmth and wellbeing, seeping into his bloodstream and then spreading all over his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He sighed contentedly.

'That's nice,' he muttered, 'so nice...'

'Do I need to tell you to be careful what you touch?' Snape said acidly. 'What if it had been dangerous?'

'S-sorry,' Harry said, shrinking back in his seat.

Snape sighed. Perhaps he was being unfair. If the Patronus had been dangerous to touch he could have warned Harry of that fact well in advance: the boy might have assumed that, since Snape had given him no such warning, it was perfectly safe.

'This is called a Patronus,' said Snape, continuing the lecture. He beckoned to the spectral deer to come back to him: it faded away to nothing after it had taken no more than a few steps. 'It's very advanced defensive magic. You might summon a Patronus to protect yourself from some of the foulest Dark creatures in this world.'

'I- I don't think I could,' said Harry shakily. He'd been struck by a horrible thought: what if Snape was mistaken? What would he do when he realised that Harry wasn't magical at all? Would he push Harry back into the cupboard under the stairs and then go away and Harry wouldn't ever see him again and he'd be left to wonder whether it had all been a dream?

'I've never done magic,' he said. Fearfully, he watched to see how Snape would react. 'What if I'm not magical?'

Snape snorted. 'Oh, really?' he said. 'Haven't you noticed that strange things tend to happen when you're angry or upset? Perhaps-' He didn't know the circumstances of Harry's use of accidental magic, so he had to imagine a likely hypothetical situation. '-perhaps you were in danger, or someone was tormenting you, then something incredible happened, and then you were safe?'

He saw Harry's face light up with sudden realisation. 'I turned a teacher's wig blue,' he giggled. 'That was magic?'

'Possibly,' said Snape, frowning. He had expected something less frivolous.

'One time, Dudley and his gang were chasing me 'round the school, and I tried to jump behind the bins, but then I was up on the roof and I didn't know how,' said Harry. 'I thought the wind must have caught me in mid-jump.'

'That was magic,' said Snape. 'You used magic instinctively, in self defence.'

Harry fell silent. Awe and wonderment were shining on his face. 'It's real,' he murmured, after a moment. 'Magic is real. Wow.'

'When you are old enough, you will go to a school for young witches and wizards,' said Snape, 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: the finest wizarding school in Great Britain.' There was an edge of mockery to the smile that crept over his face when he said that. 'Magic is a talent like any other. You have a natural aptitude, but if you want to become truly skilled, you must work hard and keep practising. Fortunately, at Hogwarts, you will have the very best teachers. Listen to them, follow their instructions, and do the best you possibly can: then, you'll be set on the path to becoming a great wizard.'

His smile had ebbed away. There was something chilly about the expression that had replaced it. 'I hope you'll make your mother proud, Harry,' he said quietly.

'I'd like to,' Harry said anxiously. 'But the Dursleys won't let me. They hate the idea of magic.' He looked very woebegone. 'They won't let me go to a wizards' school.'

Snape had to spend some time thinking about what to say next. He didn't want to raise Harry's hopes too soon, when it might still be weeks before he could be rescued from the Dursleys. And yet he didn't have the heart to let Harry think that there was no hope in sight. Harry had suffered enough.

'Harry, you will go to Hogwarts, if it's what you want,' he said firmly. 'No one will stop you. I swear it on my life.'

'Th- thank you, sir,' Harry said. Tears welled up in his eyes. He seemed taken aback by Snape's vehemence.

Snape was discomfited. He swiftly changed the subject before Harry could start blubbing. 'Are you hungry, Harry?' he said with a ghastly attempt at a bright smile.

'Yeah,' Harry snivelled, 'a bit. But-'

Snape reached into his pocket and withdrew the sandwich that he'd asked Effy the house-elf to make for Harry. It had been exquisitely wrapped in what looked like silvery paper, and it was still warm, even after more than an hour.

'I brought this for you, Harry,' he said. 'Go on, open it.'

Tentatively, his hands shaking, Harry unwrapped his present. When it was undone, and he could see the thick sandwich inside, he was salivating; there was a delicious, savoury smell wafting through the air under his nose.

It was a sandwich fit for at least a minor member of nobility: strips of grilled chicken lay snuggled up with crisp vegetables in a smear of spicy dark brown sauce between two slabs of fresh white bread. Snape thought that he'd be impressed if Harry managed to eat all of that, even if he'd been living on a starvation diet for several months.

House Elves were often so eager to please that they were quite excessively helpful: Effy was no exception. Still, Snape was sure that he'd made the right choice in asking her to help him. She'd made a much better sandwich than he ever could have. The culinary arts were not his area of expertise: he knew of no potion that was required to have a pleasant taste.

Harry didn't move. His eyes narrowed.

'This is mine?' he said.

'Yes, Harry.'

'All of it?'

'Yes, it's yours, Harry.'

'Won't I have to go back to the cupboard, soon?' said Harry suspiciously.

'You can take it with you,' said Snape, 'if you hide the evidence: you wouldn't want the Dursleys to see, would you?' He spoke in an increasingly irritated tone. 'I'll bring you something else to eat, next time. Just eat it.'

Harry looked gleeful at the prospect of Snape coming to visit him again. He picked up one half of the sandwich and began to eat. He ate slowly but voraciously: it was plain that he was ravenously hungry but that he also wanted to appreciate the taste. For Harry, the sandwich was a rare delight that he might not experience again, and so he lingered over every bite.

It was apparent to Snape that Harry was trying to be polite and well-mannered, but that he only had the faintest idea of what good table manners were: presumably the Dursleys had given him little instruction other than to tell him what a horrible child he was.

Snape gave him a few guidelines: 'keep your mouth closed while you're chewing' and 'don't rest your elbows on the table when you're eating.'

Harry opened his mouth to ask a question, and Snape had to tell him, 'don't talk while you've got food in your mouth.'

Harry shut his mouth. He made sure the morsel of food was thoroughly chewed, swallowed it, and then opened his mouth to speak again.

'Why shouldn't I rest my elbows on the table while I'm eating?' he asked.

'It's considered bad manners.'

'Why is it bad manners?'

Snape looked thoughtful. 'I don't know,' he said, at last. 'Think of it like this: many years ago, someone came up with a system of somewhat arbitrary rules for polite behaviour at the dinner table. You should follow those rules because other people will judge you harshly if you don't. I'm sure you wouldn't want everyone you meet to think that you're a rude and disgusting little boy.'

'Most of them do,' Harry said dismally. 'They listen to Aunt Petunia. She tells them that I'm nasty and horrible and they should keep an eye on me or I'll misbehave.'

Snape's anger flared. When he spoke, his words oozed venom. 'If they'd rather listen to lies than believe the evidence of their own eyes, they're not worth bothering with. Ignore them.'

Harry gave a small nod. In his life, he had met only a few people who were willing to give him a chance. Some of the other children at school had tried to befriend him but they'd been scared off by Dudley, and a few of his teachers had been kind to him until Aunt Petunia had poisoned their minds against him. He had no experience of true friendship. He was used to being disliked.

He took another bite out of his sandwich.

'You knew my parents, didn't you?' he said, between mouthfuls. 'What were they like?'

Snape suppressed a shiver. He had known that he couldn't avoid this topic, but that didn't make it any easier. He hadn't been able to bring himself to prepare in advance.

'Lily was lovely,' he said, after a few moments, during which Harry had devoured most of one half of his sandwich. 'She was a great friend, kind and caring, always willing to help those in need or to stand up for those who couldn't defend themselves. And she was a very talented witch: at Hogwarts, she was the best in her year group.'

He met Harry's gaze for a few seconds. 'You have Lily's eyes,' he said hoarsely. His mouth was dry.

Harry looked pleased. He hadn't seen any photographs of his parents, so he'd often wondered what they looked like and what he had in common with them. Aunt Petunia didn't talk about her sister, so Harry hadn't been able to find out much about his mum, except that apparently she'd married a layabout and then died in a car crash, leaving Harry to be a burden on his "decent, hard-working relatives".

It was immensely satisfying for him to hear Snape's fervent praise for his mother: he made her sound like such a wonderful person. Harry wished he could remember what she had been like, but this was the next best thing, and the closest he was ever going to get.

However, there was something about what Snape had said that deeply worried Harry: so far, Snape had made no mention of Harry's father. He seemed reluctant to talk about him. Was there some shameful secret that Snape didn't want him to know? The Dursleys had told him that James Potter had been a good-for-nothing scrounger. Was that true?

'Did... did you know my father?' said Harry. He spoke haltingly and his eyes were wide with panic. 'Tell me about him.'

Snape froze. He had found it easy to tell himself that he could be magnanimous: in his daydreams, he had fantasized about how he could be noble and forgiving, that he would be generous and find something nice to say about James Potter. Now that the moment had arrived, he found himself unable to speak: his hatred of James Potter was an insurmountable obstacle: he couldn't let go of his grudge. The reality of Severus Snape never matched up to the ideal.

'Was he a layabout?' said Harry. 'That's what the Dursleys said.'

'No,' Snape growled. He felt relieved: his renewed hatred of Vernon and Petunia Dursley had given him the strength to overcome his old hatred of James Potter, to a small extent. 'He was a rich man.'

'What was he like?'

'I didn't know him very well,' Snape lied. He racked his brains for something more to say: he would make sure that his description of James Potter was strictly factual. 'Er... he played Quidditch.'

Harry looked quizzical.

'Quidditch is a wizarding sport, Harry,' said Snape, 'played on broomsticks. At Hogwarts, there are a number of teams that take part in a mini-league. Every year, a silver Cup is awarded to the winners. Your father was a member of a team that won the Cup several times.'

His description of Hogwarts' Quidditch Cup was, by necessity, sketchy and incomplete. He didn't want to go into detail or to have to explain what he was talking about.

'My dad was good at Quidditch?' Harry said, gratified. At this point, Snape would normally have made a scathing comment and asked Harry if he was just going to repeat everything he said back to him, but he was trying to be tolerant.

'Yes, he was skilful,' Snape said, through gritted teeth. He remembered that James Potter had had a highly inflated opinion of just how skilful he was, the posturing moron.

The blood was rushing to his head and his face was contorted in a grimace: he fought to keep it under control. He knew he should continue his list of James Potter's paltry accomplishments before Harry asked him what was wrong.

'In his final year at Hogwarts, he was chosen as Head Boy,' said Snape, glad that he'd thought of something that was undeniably true and didn't require much in the way of comment or explanation. 'Your mother was Head Girl.'

Harry perked up considerably. Snape scowled: he wondered if he'd unwittingly given Harry a false impression of his father as someone who deserved to be chosen as Head Boy, trusted by the teachers and given authority over his fellow students.

'Are you okay, sir?' said Harry: he'd seen Snape's sickened expression.

'What?' Snape snapped. 'Yes. I'm fine.'

Harry continued to eat, in silence, for a while. He ate most of his sandwich, more than three quarters, but in the end it had defeated him. He sagged in his chair, utterly sated.

'Wrap it up and save the rest for later,' said Snape: it was advice that Harry was happy to follow.

'That was delicious!' said Harry with a beaming smile. 'Did you make that?'

'No,' said Snape. 'I asked one of the Hogwarts house-elves for help: Effy's her name.'

Harry accepted the existence of elves without a murmur. He had seen magic and he'd been told that he was a wizard. He didn't have any residual scepticism after that. Elves were comparatively easy to believe in.

'Please, can you say 'thank you' to her for me,' said Harry. 'Tell her it was a brilliant sandwich: the best I've ever tasted!'

'I'm glad you enjoyed that, Harry,' said Snape. 'Would you like a drink to wash it down?'

'Um...' Harry fidgeted a bit. 'No.'

'If you need to use the toilet, I suggest you go now,' said Snape: he had a shrewd idea of what that fidgeting meant. 'Just a minute...' He was the conscious of the fact that he hadn't yet cast any few soundproofing spells in the toilet: after things had been going so well, so far, it would be a pity if one of the Dursleys heard the noise and came to investigate.

'Where's the downstairs toilet, Harry?'

The Dursleys had a large house: of course they'd have a downstairs toilet. Harry showed him where it was. Snape left the door open so he could show Harry some of the spells he used to make sure that no sound could escape. Then, he stepped outside and let Harry get on with it: after a minute or so, Harry opened the door, looking relieved.

'Did you wash your hands?'

'Yes,' Harry said proudly, showing Snape his clean hands: the soundproofing spell had prevented Snape from hearing the sound of running water.

'Good,' said Snape. 'Do you want that drink?'

Harry _did_ want a drink. He was thirsty, and he had been for a while, but he'd been too scared that his bladder would be full to bursting by morning. Now, he didn't have to worry so much.

'What time is it?' said Harry, after he'd finished his glass of water. ('_Scourgify_,' said Snape, putting the glass back on the shelf.)

'It's four o'clock,' said Snape, pinching the bridge of his nose, stifling a yawn.

'You'll have to go soon, won't you?' said Harry anxiously. 'You can't stay here.'

Snape grimaced. 'I'll come back for you, Harry,' he said. 'You will see me again.'

On impulse, Harry ran to Snape and hugged him about the knees. 'Thank you for everything,' he whispered. Harry had said 'thank you' so many times that by now Snape was tempted to purchase a thesaurus for him so that at least he could vary his vocabulary. 'It's been great. I had a wonderful time.'

'Er-'

Snape had no idea of how to react. He couldn't remember the last time that anyone had hugged him. It was unprecedented.

'It was my pleasure, Harry,' he said gravely. 'I've enjoyed meeting you.'

'Good night, sir,' said Harry, inching his way towards the cupboard under the stairs. He was mindful of the fact that Aunt Petunia would be hammering on the door, calling for him to get up and attend to his chores, in a just few short hours.

Snape bent down to shake Harry by the hand. 'Call me Severus,' he said generously. Harry was the son of an old friend, not one of his students. He would encourage Harry to think of him as a friendly, avuncular figure, not as a harsh teacher.

'Severus,' said Harry, shaking his hand, 'nice name.'

The first response that came to mind was "your father didn't think so", but Snape restrained himself with an effort. He plastered a fake smile over his face.

'Until we meet again, Harry,' he said, 'farewell.'

Harry got back into his cupboard, clutching the wrapped-up remains of his sandwich. 'Bye, Severus,' he said as he closed the door behind him.

For a moment, Snape leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He felt awful guilt, like a chill in his heart, at the thought of having to leave Harry with the Dursleys. It need only be for a couple of weeks, at most, but Snape wasn't sure he could put up with it even for that long. Harry was an earnest, good-natured, inquisitive (and slightly irritating) boy: he deserved much better than he'd received.

Hating himself for it, Snape locked the door of the cupboard under the stairs, so that Petunia Dursley would have to be the one to let Harry out in the morning. Then, he cast the Disillusionment and Oculi Felis charms on himself for the second time that night.

He made a circuit of the house, cancelling his soundproofing spells and the warning ward at the top of the stairs, turning off all the lights, transfiguring the padded armchair back into a normal pine wood dining chair, straightening the dining chairs, clearing away the evidence of Harry's illicit meal, making sure that when the Dursley came downstairs they would notice nothing out of the ordinary.

At last, Number Four, Privet Drive looked exactly the same as it had done before Snape had made his illegal entry. He'd left no trace behind.

He trudged out, into the dark. It was early morning. He went back to Hogwarts.

* * *

><p><em><span>Notes:<span>_  
><em>I'll admit that the issue of whether the Dursleys could have claimed Child Benefit (and other entitlements) for looking after Harry had not occurred to me until I read Arsinoe de Blassenville's fanfiction, 'The Best Revenge' (which I heartily recommend to anyone who hasn't already read it). I've mentioned it in this chapter because I do feel that it's an issue that needs to be addressed (and because it makes the Dursleys seem all the more hypocritical and unreasonable).<em>

_If you have enjoyed reading 'Broken Lives', it would mean an awful lot to me if you'd post a review. I love to get feedback. It's the reward that encourages me to keep writing._


	11. The Master Manipulator

_Note: This was a pain to write__**. **__Argh._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: The Master Manipulator<strong>

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and founder of the Order of the Phoenix, was occasionally perturbed by the fact that the majority of people in the wizarding world seemed to hold him in such annoyingly high regard that they very rarely thought to ask him how on earth he managed to carry out his many responsibilities without the use of a Time-Turner. He felt as if he was spread so thinly that, when he looked down at his hands, he half-expected to see daylight shining through them.

Hero worship had its uses, but Dumbledore was well aware of the downsides: there were far too many people who venerated him as the greatest wizard in the entire world. They still talked of how he had defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald and how he was the only man that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been afraid to face. (There were few people in Britain who did not tremble at the mere mention of the name "Voldemort". It was exasperating. Even Professor McGonagall, an eminently sensible woman in all other ways, struggled to force the word past her lips.)

There had been those whose veneration for Dumbledore had bordered on idolatry. They had trusted him with their lives and, more often than not, he had proved unworthy of their trust. He had sent them to their deaths, to failure and ignominy, and afterwards he had tried to convince himself that their deaths could not have been avoided and that they would have suffered worse if Voldemort had won the war.

The events of this past week had forced him to re-evaluate some of the choices he'd made. It had been a strangely liberating and humbling experience for Dumbledore to realise that he didn't have to carry the weight of so much responsibility. He was an old man- incredibly ancient, in fact- he should long ago have handed over the reins of power to a younger generation. He would not live forever. Other people would have to take charge of the plots and schemes he'd set in motion.

Only a few people had truly earned his trust. Minerva McGonagall was one of them. Dumbledore knew that she would make an excellent headmistress of Hogwarts when, at last, he was gone. Actually- and this was something Dumbledore had been thinking about an awful lot lately- why delay any longer? Professor McGonagall devoted an enormous amount of time to ensuring the smooth running of the school. She was Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House and sole teacher of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had often relied upon Professor McGonagall to carry out his duties while he had pressing business elsewhere. She threw herself into her work with whole-hearted enthusiasm and effort enough to put Dumbledore to shame.

It stuck in his craw to have to admit it, but Dumbledore knew that Lucius Malfoy had been right about that, at least: Hogwarts needed a headmaster (or headmistress) who could give the job his (or her) undivided attention.

Lucius Malfoy was one of the school governors, a wealthy bigot who had, for years, tried to oust Dumbledore from his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Undoubtedly, Lucius Malfoy already had a replacement in mind: one of his pet lickspittles, someone who believed that purity of blood was much more important than intelligence or hard work, someone gullible and susceptible to bribery. Dumbledore was none of those things, and he had proven a formidable obstacle to Lucius Malfoy's ambitions.

However, Lucius Malfoy was a clever man and, at least once, he had made Dumbledore exceedingly uncomfortable with several astute observations that had been hard to argue against. He had pointed out that Dumbledore held so many positions of authority and had so many duties and responsibilities that, really, it was a wonder he found time for all of them.

'Actually,' he'd drawled, 'perhaps the Headmaster has not dedicated as much time to the running of Hogwarts as perhaps he should have done.'

With that, Lucius Malfoy had pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. He'd spread them out over the table with the air of a professional gambler laying down a straight flush. They were records of Hogwarts' OWL and NEWT results over the previous five years.

'Consistently mediocre, wouldn't you say?' said Lucius Malfoy. The other school governors had crowded around him, examining the documents. Some of them had nodded in agreement to Malfoy's words: yes, exam results at Hogwarts had gotten tiresomely predictable.

'Therein lies the problem,' Lucius Malfoy had said with a frown, 'no attempts have been made to capitalize upon past successes or rectify obvious failings in the Hogwarts educational system. History of Magic is still taught by Professor Binns, a ghost, and I think we can all bear witness to the fact that his lessons are unutterably tedious.'

There had been more nods and a few mutterings. All of the governors had attended Hogwarts in the past. They well remembered falling asleep in lessons taught by Binns.

'British wizarding society has a long and glorious history. Children should be encouraged to take pride in our cultural heritage. However, the current History of Magic curriculum seems inordinately focussed on a series of obscure goblin rebellions. Is it any wonder that-' Lucius Malfoy had moistened his lips. Possibly only Dumbledore had noticed his eyes narrow in an expression of acute distaste, just for an instant. '-young witches and wizards who were muggle-born or muggle-raised often leave school with only a few vague ideas about wizarding culture and society. They are given no guidance to help them find their proper place in the wizarding world.'

He had sneered. 'Is it any wonder that so few of them ever go on to achieve anything of note?'

Some of the members of the Board of Governors had looked indignant. There had been a fierce clamour of voices. Cornelia Griffiths had shouted out a couple of dozen names of muggle-born students at Hogwarts who had been very successful in their future careers. At the same time, Malfoy's toadies had vigorously defended everything he had said.

Lucius Malfoy had raised a hand, appealing for calm. 'Please, let me finish,' he'd said. 'As you recall, I was talking about History of Magic as it is taught at Hogwarts. Professor Binns is an incompetent teacher. There is no possibility that he can ever be anything but an incompetent teacher. Dead men cannot change their ways.

'The History of Magic curriculum is lamentably sparse when it comes to recent wizarding history and, indeed, anything that has happened since Professor Binns' death in the eighteenth century. It seems clear to me that Professor Binns is incapable of adapting to new information. He has continued to teach made-up stories that have since been discredited. The tale of Wendelin the Weird, for example, is almost entirely fictitious: it's an amusing fairytale taught to children to deceive them into thinking that muggles are nothing to be afraid of. Whereas, in actual fact, thousands of witches and wizards, most of them children, died as victims of persecution by muggles during the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. And that, of course, is why we continue to live in secrecy, even now.'

Wearing a vicious smirk, Lucius Malfoy had glanced around the room. 'My esteemed colleagues, how many of you are able to cast a wandless, non-verbal Flame-Freezing Charm? Let's have a show of hands.'

Most of the school governors had raised a hand.

'So many?' said Lucius Malfoy, looking suitably impressed. 'Well, I'm sorry to say that it would have been of no use to you. If you had been unfortunate enough to be captured by muggles back in those days, in Britain, at least, you would have been hanged, not burned at the stake.'

'I must say, this is fascinating, Lucius,' said Dumbledore. 'Did you want the job as teacher of History of Magic for yourself?'

There had been a chorus of laughter from the school governors, including those who were Lucius Malfoy's toadies, and Malfoy himself had smiled politely, if only to prove that he could be a good sport.

'My point is,' said Lucius Malfoy, 'for many years, an essential part of our children's education has been sorely neglected.'

'That is hardly Dumbledore's fault,' hoary old Lemuel Frye had said sharply. The white-bearded warlock was a frequent adversary of Lucius Malfoy, and he had foreseen where Malfoy's argument was headed. 'Professor Binns has been teaching at Hogwarts for more than two hundred years now.'

'A sorry state of affairs,' Lucius Malfoy had said, 'one that successive headmasters have done nothing to rectify. At any other school, anywhere else in Europe- no, anywhere else in the world- this situation would have been dealt with long ago. I fear that- for many years- Hogwarts has been standing still while other schools have been moving forward by leaps and bounds. I was dining with Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang, the other day-' Malfoy seldom missed an opportunity to remind everyone of how well-connected he was. '-and he told me of how he is under constant pressure to provide his students with the best possible education. He has made many improvements. Durmstrang is an excellent school.

'Hogwarts, on the other hand...' Malfoy had gazed fixedly at Dumbledore. 'When was the last time _you_ made any improvements to the running of your school, Headmaster?'

'I hired Quirinus Quirrell as the professor of Muggle Studies,' said Dumbledore. He wasn't entirely sure whether that could be considered as an improvement, but he acted as if he was confident that it was.

Lucius Malfoy had given him a sardonic smirk. 'Oh yes,' he said silkily, 'I'm glad that you found the time to take care of such important business, Headmaster. I was afraid that, as you have so many other duties and responsibilities, you would be far too busy to give the matter the attention it deserves.'

At this point, Dumbledore had felt it necessary to explain that the position of Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was more of a ceremonial role than anything else. In theory, he could have used his authority to champion sweeping changes to international law, and his position as nominal leader of the ICW afforded him a wide range of powers and privileges. In practice, he was occasionally called upon to vote on an especially important issue but, for the most part, he was left alone, which was what he wanted.

His duties as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot were not onerous. Most criminal cases did not require a meeting of the entire Wizengamot: in fact, smaller disciplinary hearings could be dealt with by a single investigator. Dumbledore sometimes, not very often, had to preside over a vote on changes to British wizarding law. This had never really taken up very much of his time. All that was required of him was that he should attend a few court meetings, lend an air of gravitas to proceedings, and take part in the vote (and that was usually just a formality).

It wasn't something that had ever taken him away from Hogwarts for very long. Well, that was what he had told the school governors. With the exception of Lucius Malfoy and his toadies, they trusted him. They wanted to believe that he was doing his best.

'Hogwarts needs a headmaster who can give the job his undivided attention,' Lucius Malfoy had said, 'wouldn't you agree, Professor Dumbledore?'

Privately, Dumbledore had agreed, but he couldn't let Lucius Malfoy know that. During his tenure as headmaster, Dumbledore had made few changes or improvements to the school. Hogwarts was virtually self-sustaining; even without a headmaster it would have carried on pretty much the same as it always had done, but that wasn't to say it couldn't be made better. Dumbledore knew some of the changes that should be implemented (replacing Professor Binns would be a good start) but he didn't have the time. There was always too much to do.

'Dumbledore has my full support,' Athelwulf Allardyce, President of the Board of Governors, had said with a growl. Several other school governors had chimed in with similar sentiments.

In his quest to embarrass Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy had brought with him a long list of (what he thought were) other deficiencies in the Hogwarts school curriculum.

'Very few people have genuine clairvoyant abilities,' he had said, eyes glinting, 'and yet Divination, at Hogwarts, is a remarkably popular subject. If we take a look at these OWL results- almost uniformly dreadful- it seems patently obvious that most of these students took Divination as one of their third year elects because they knew it was going to be a waste of time and they couldn't be bothered to do any real work.'

'It's good to know that old traditions are being kept alive,' Cornelia Griffiths had said, chuckling under her breath.

'You may laugh,' Lucius Malfoy had said smugly, 'but I am appalled that our children's education has been handled so carelessly.'

Dumbledore was sure he had heard Lemuel Frye mutter the words "sanctimonious prick" under his breath, masking the insult with a sudden coughing fit.

Ignoring this, Lucius Malfoy had said, 'why is Care of Magical Creatures given such prominence? How many students will ever have to take care of any creature larger than a Crup? I agree that every wizard should have a basic knowledge of the many different beasts and beings of our world, but I can't see why anyone should have to spend lesson after lesson learning how to look after Flobberworms.'

Lucius Malfoy's eyes had glazed over as he recalled the undiluted tedium of Care of Magical Creatures classes during his own fourth year at Hogwarts. Professor Kettleburn, usually so exuberant, had completely lost his nerve after he had been put on probation for the fifty-ninth time.

'Need I remind you of Clause Seventy-Three of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, Lucius?' Máiread McCririck had said. 'In the British Isles, there are dragon reservations, lakes where merpeople dwell, and enchanted forests set aside for centaurs, bowtruckles and unicorns, to name but a few examples. All of these habitats must be maintained; magical beasts must be cared for and concealed from muggles and, in some cases, very carefully controlled. That is one of the prime responsibilities of the British Ministry of Magic. An OWL or- even better- a NEWT in Care of Magical Creatures is a vital qualification for those who seek a career at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and there are always plenty of job openings there.'

Lucius Malfoy had conceded the point and quickly changed the main thrust of his argument.

'I don't dispute that Care of Magical Creatures is an important subject, but I do think that the way it is currently taught at Hogwarts leaves much to be desired. There's too much emphasis on the practical side of things: students spend the majority of lessons standing out in the cold, gawking at weird and wonderful creatures, but hardly ever studying them in detail.'

'Silvanus Kettleburn is a good teacher,' Dumbledore had said mildly. He felt confident that this praise was richly deserved: in his younger days, Professor Kettleburn had been a wild and reckless man, but he had mellowed since then, and the likelihood of his students graduating with all their original limbs was now greatly increased.

'I agree,' Devesh Patil had said. He had been examining some of the papers that Lucius Malfoy had brought with him. 'These OWL and NEWT results speak for themselves.'

Stifling a yawn, Athelwulf Allardyce had said, 'can we move on? Lucius, if you have more suggestions, save them for 'any other business', alright?'

Trusting that he had made his point, Lucius Malfoy had gathered up his papers, replaced them in his briefcase, and the governors' meeting had progressed as normal from then on. Lucius Malfoy had made no further suggestions. He must have realised that he'd tested everyone else's patience far enough that day.

He had looked pleased with himself. He hadn't quite managed to get Dumbledore sacked, but some of the other governors (even those who had been stubborn supporters of Dumbledore) had listened intently to what he had to say. They would remember, in future.

Lucius Malfoy hadn't cared whether or not any of his suggestions would be implemented: he had meant them as rhetorical devices to influence the other governors to his point of view: nevertheless, there was some merit to what he had said. It might have surprised him to know that Professor Dumbledore had seriously considered each of his proposed changes to Hogwarts' curriculum.

Even now, months later, Dumbledore was still deliberating over what he should do. Which of Lucius Malfoy's suggestions should he put into practice, if any? He was a soft-hearted man and he didn't like the idea of having to sack Professors Binns and Trelawney, but he was resigned to do what he must to make sure that students at Hogwarts received a decent standard of education. He could be complacent no longer.

His recent years had flown past in a twinkling: it had been so easy just to let things slide.

That was why he had been thinking about retirement. Perhaps he should leave Hogwarts, and hand over to a new incumbent, someone with youthful energy and fresh ideas. He would recommend Minerva McGonagall for the role (although she could hardly be considered "young" except by comparison to Dumbledore himself).

And yet, Dumbledore was hesitant to relinquish his position as headmaster of Hogwarts. It was not a decision to be made lightly. The job had its perks, and some of them had proved so invaluable that he was reluctant to lose them. He had control over the Hogwarts castle wards and access to many sources of knowledge and information. Moreover, he had one very good reason for staying on as headmaster: he would protect the children, as he had done for so many years. Frequently, his fearsome reputation had been enough to frighten off those who might otherwise have done harm to those in his care. Many of Dumbledore's diehard supporters were fervent in their belief that Dumbledore's presence was a cast-iron guarantee of their children's safety. He'd hate to disappoint them.

He was still weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of resignation, in his mind. He wouldn't make any definite decision until the end of the school year.

One of the things he liked about being headmaster of Hogwarts was that it put him at the heart of the British wizarding world. He had his finger on the pulse; he knew exactly what was going on. What would happen if he resigned? He imagined being sequestered in some dreary old house, useless and unwanted, drifting into solitude and senility. It would have been his worst nightmare if he didn't already have so many nightmares that were far worse.

He needed activity to keep him sane. So, if he resigned, what would he do? Well, for instance, he could set up camp in the Ministry of Magic and drive the Wizengamot to distraction by insisting that he sit in on every single court case. He toyed with that idea for a moment. Or he could take a more active role in the International Confederation of Wizards. Or... hmm, what if...

Little Harry Potter had vanquished Lord Voldemort, everyone knew that. But how many people knew that Voldemort was not truly dead, that he had clung to a hollow vestige of life, a malignant shade, banished to the forests of Albania? Voldemort had embroiled himself in the foulest of the Dark Arts and, somehow, he had found a way to prolong his life even after his body had been destroyed.

This was a possibility that strongly appealed to Dumbledore: he could use his remaining years to find out exactly how Voldemort had cheated death, and how it could be undone. One day, Voldemort would surely return, having found himself a new body, and he would continue his war of conquest. Dumbledore had sworn to stop him, if he could.

A potential problem was the fact that, throughout the centuries, aspiring Dark Lords had tried many different roads to immortality: Horcruxes; Necromancy; drinking a potion made from unicorn blood. Voldemort might have used any or all of these methods: Dumbledore didn't know which, but he would find out.

He recalled the tragic tale of Nathaniel De'Ath, born in the United States of America, a member of an ancient Pure-blood family, a master of magic, a genius and visionary who had sought to explore the outer limits of what was believed to be possible. He had achieved many incredible, miraculous things, but somewhere along the way, he had lost his sanity. He had fallen to the Dark Arts.

Stricken by an incurable disease, he had murdered his own daughter, seeking to use her life force to rejuvenate himself. Dumbledore didn't know if he had succeeded. When she saw what he had done, Nathaniel De'Ath's wife had killed him- no, she had _butchered_ him- and then she had used Fiendfyre to dispose of his remains. And then she had called for the American equivalent of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and demanded to be arrested.

The true circumstances of Nathaniel De'Ath's grisly death had not been widely publicised. Dumbledore had heard the story from someone the International Confederation of Wizards who had been looking to curry favour with the Supreme Mugwump. The story had been in the forefront of his mind these past few days, ever since he had first glanced through Severus Snape's shortlist of men and women who could conceivably replace him as Hogwarts' Potions master. Of course, Snape couldn't possibly have known, but still...

Anyway, although Dumbledore didn't know how Voldemort had achieved his semblance of immortality, and he didn't have time to make inquiries, there were some things he could do. Harry Potter was the boy who had survived the Killing Curse and defeated the Dark Lord. When Voldemort returned, he would try to prove that it had been a fluke. He would prove his own invincibility by killing the boy who was prophesied to slay him. Dumbledore was determined to keep Harry alive. He had hatched a plan, and he had thought that it was working out pretty well, until a few nights ago.

On Monday evening, his plan had been savagely criticised by Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, so Dumbledore had delegated to them the responsibility of making sure that Harry survived to adulthood, in the hopes that they would succeed in their stated objectives. They were planning to rescue Harry from the Dursleys. They wanted more than just survival for Harry: they wanted him to be happy and healthy and surrounded by a loving family. Dumbledore would not let them fail.

He knew that both men would resent his interference, so he was trying hard not to stick his nose in where it wasn't wanted. He was keeping a careful watch on proceedings, but he wouldn't take action unless he felt he must (if Harry's life was put in danger, for example). He had restricted himself to doing only a few small things to make life easier for them.

He had been informed by one of Hogwarts' many magical portraits that Severus Snape had left the castle very late last night and had returned just a few hours ago. Dumbledore didn't need to guess at what Snape had been doing. It had been a simple deduction (especially since, during the early hours of the morning, Dumbledore had disabled his Wizard Detector because it wouldn't stop whistling).

Snape had a full day of teaching ahead of him. In the past, sleep deprivation had not been much of a hindrance to Snape, but it tended to put him in a particularly foul mood, and Dumbledore liked to know in advance if he would have to deal with traumatised students and furious letters from parents. Also, Dumbledore wanted to surreptitiously check that he wasn't too exhausted to teach.

'Effy!' he said, calling for the bat-eared house-elf who was probably the closest thing Snape had to a friend at Hogwarts.

The tiny creature suddenly materialised in Dumbledore's office, bowing and scraping, overawed that she'd been summoned by the headmaster.

'Effy, I want you to go to Professor Snape's quarters,' said Dumbledore. 'See if he's awake and dressed and ready for the day ahead of him. Report back to me if he isn't. You'll probably find him at his desk.'

Dumbledore pictured a likely scenario: Snape sitting at his desk with his head resting on a pile of still-to-be marked assignments, having decided that he couldn't be bothered to go to bed and he might as well get some work done. It hadn't happened before (not to Snape, anyway), but Dumbledore had noticed that people tended to get a bit lax when they knew they only had a couple of weeks left in the job.

'Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir!' said Effy enthusiastically. 'Effy will do it right away, sir!'

She vanished from sight.

Dumbledore waited for several minutes, and Effy did not return, so he embarked on his next task. He had given Remus Lupin permission to hide out in the Shrieking Shack during the full moon. Dumbledore assumed that Lupin was now lying unconscious, recovering from the agonies of his transformation. He would need bed rest and someone to take care of him for a few days. Dumbledore knew that Madam Pomfrey would be glad to do it. She was fond of Lupin, the shy little boy who had been pathetically grateful to her for nursing him through his injuries every month.

He headed to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was busy, making her rounds, checking up on some of her patients.

'Oh! Good morning, Headmaster!' she said, turning to see who had opened the door.

'Good morning, Poppy,' said Dumbledore, beaming at her. 'And how are your patients today?'

She frowned. 'Well, since you asked, I need to keep Mr. Fogarty under observation for another day or so. I've detached the tentacles, at last, so he should make a full recovery. Miss Dillon is free to go. She'll be out of here before breakfast. I went to fetch Mr. Lupin first thing this morning: he's in bad shape, but-'

'Lupin is here?' said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. He had thought that that he would need to explain the situation to Madam Pomfrey but apparently it was unnecessary.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him quizzically. 'Yes, and I thought that you knew that, Headmaster. Lupin came to me yesterday evening.' She spoke carefully so as not to expose Lupin's secret to any of the other patients who might be eavesdropping. 'He gave me his wand and a spare set of clothes for safekeeping, and told me that you'd said he could make use of the Shrieking Shack.'

'Ah, yes, that's true,' said Dumbledore. He was surprised that he hadn't known that Lupin had visited Madam Pomfrey yesterday. There wasn't much that happened at Hogwarts that escaped Dumbledore's notice: he had eyes and ears everywhere. However, during his school years, Lupin had been friends with James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, a member of their gang: they had called themselves "the Marauders". They had been incorrigible pranksters, getting up to all kinds of mischief, but they'd rarely been caught in the act: they were experts at evading detection.

Had Lupin decided to put some of his old skills into practice? Why had he done that?

'May I see him?' said Dumbledore.

'Yes, of course, he's over there,' said Madam Pomfrey, pointing to the end bed. 'He's asleep. Don't disturb him, will you?'

'I won't,' Dumbledore promised. He walked over to Lupin's bed, observing the sleeping man, for a moment. Lupin stirred and murmured feebly in his sleep. His face was badly bruised. Dumbledore couldn't see if had any other injuries, and he didn't dare incur the wrath of Madam Pomfrey by removing the blankets to take a closer look.

'Poor Remus,' he sighed.

When he was a safe distance away from Lupin's bed and unlikely to disturb him, Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey and asked her for a summary of Lupin's injuries.

'Lupin had a broken arm and a skull fracture,' she said. 'Don't look so worried. He'll be fine: I've already repaired the worst of it. The rest is superficial.'

Dumbledore shuddered. He knew that, in order for Lupin to have been injured like that, the werewolf must have tried to escape its confinement, slamming into the walls, beating its head against the boarded-up windows, frantically trying to get out. From the sound of it, Lupin had come close to killing himself last night; he'd be lucky if he hadn't sustained permanent brain damage. However, Madam Pomfrey seemed confident that Lupin would recover, and Dumbledore trusted her judgement; she was almost never wrong about these things.

There was nothing more he could do for Lupin, for the time being, except to leave him to Madam Pomfrey's ministrations. Tomorrow, perhaps, Lupin would be ready to receive visitors.

He bade farewell to Madam Pomfrey and went for breakfast.

* * *

><p>One of the benefits of Dumbledore's overblown reputation was that few people were bold enough to trifle with him. The events of this past week were a case in point: Professor Snape had witnessed some vicious bullying taking place in his classroom, and he had brought this to the attention of the other members of staff. They had lost no time in getting to the bottom of what was going on, and the worst perpetrators had been severely punished.<p>

In Armando Dippet's time, for example, the doting parents of some of the most horrid children would not have admitted that their little darlings were capable of wrongdoing. Professor Dippet would have received many Howlers, sternly-worded warnings and letters of complaint. There would have been parents storming into Hogwarts with dramatic cries of "this is outrageous!"

They treated Dumbledore with more respect. The parents of the worst offenders had meekly accepted that their children would serve detentions, lose House points and (in a few cases) the revocation of certain privileges. Even if they didn't agree with Dumbledore's explanation for why these punishments were necessary, they didn't waste his time, which was a relief.

Nymphadora Tonks had been the victim in all this. Dumbledore had sent a letter to Ted and Andromeda Tonks, explaining what had happened, and giving them special dispensation to take their daughter home for the weekend so they could fuss over her a bit. He had two reasons for doing this. The first was that he was aggrieved to hear of bullying at Hogwarts and he thought that Nymphadora deserved some happiness to make up for what she'd had to put up with. The second was that he thought that this might be a convenient opportunity for Severus Snape to meet Mr. and Mrs. Tonks.

He had heard Snape and Lupin discussing the Tonkses as potential foster parents for Harry. Perhaps they had subsequently decided against it: Dumbledore didn't know. It didn't matter. As Lupin was currently indisposed, Snape should be given the chance to meet the Tonkses, to judge for himself whether to include them in his plans. They might make for useful allies, in any case.

And so, Ted and Andromeda Tonks had gratefully accepted Dumbledore's invitation. It was decided that they would come to Hogwarts for seven o'clock on Friday evening to meet with the headmaster, and then they would take Nymphadora home for two days, returning her to Hogwarts sometime before curfew on Sunday.

The stage was set.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape had made it through the day with the aid of strong coffee, a few drops of Awakening Potion taken every hour, and his most ferocious scowl. He was exhausted, but he congratulated himself on having endured.<p>

Early that morning, he had been reading through some of the assignments that his second year students had handed in, writing acerbic commentary and taking vindictive pleasure in giving them grades that ranged from 'Acceptable' to 'Dreadful', when Effy the house-elf had popped up out of nowhere: she'd asked him if he was awake. His immediate impulse was to deride her for asking him such an inane question, but he had restrained himself, with difficulty.

He guessed that her real reason for visiting him was to find out if his nocturnal mission had been a success. He told her a little about what had happened. She was distressed to hear of how Harry Potter had been locked up in a cupboard, and she had burst into tears when Snape told her that Harry had said that her sandwich was the best he'd ever tasted.

Snape wasn't sure of how to comfort a sobbing, hysterical house-elf. He had made a few sympathetic noises and asked her some technical questions about the sauce she had used. That seemed to do the trick.

'So, it's mostly fat and sugar?' Snape had frowned, when he'd heard the full list of ingredients. 'Hmm. No wonder Harry liked it.'

'And tomatoes!' Effy said with a wide grin. 'It's my own recipe!'

'Yes...' Snape blinked a few times. He felt befuddled by lack of sleep, but his natural caution prevailed: he knew to be cautious of where house-elf helpfulness might lead. 'It's a very good sauce,' he said slowly, 'so good, in fact, that I think it should be reserved for special occasions.'

'I suppose so,' said Effy, looking crestfallen.

'Well, I should go to breakfast,' said Snape. 'Effy, last night, you were a great help. Thanks. Er... I appreciate it.'

Effy disappeared as suddenly as she'd arrived, and Snape went up to the Great Hall for breakfast. He must have eaten something but, afterwards, he didn't remember what.

He had returned to the dungeons for Double Potions with the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins. It had gone fairly well. The students all seemed thoroughly cowed. In fact, only one of his lessons that day had resulted in catastrophe.

In Snape's class of fourth years that afternoon, the set task had been to produce a Cleaning Solution: an inexpensive homemade alternative to Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover that Snape had thought they might find useful in later life. However, none of the students had managed to complete the task. This was because of a Hufflepuff boy, Blake Rigney, whose careless brewing had filled the classroom with noxious fumes.

Snape had been forced to evacuate the classroom until the fumes had been dispersed. He had intended to give Mr. Rigney the vitriolic rebuke he so richly deserved, but he hadn't been able to summon up the necessary energy. He was too weary. Instead, he had sighed frustratedly, moved the students to another classroom, and then he'd explained to everyone where Mr. Rigney had gone wrong.

'Potions are dangerous,' he had said, speaking with uncharacteristic bluntness. He was tired, and that had robbed him of his usual eloquence. 'Even the most simple brews can scald you or blister you or blow up in your face if you're not careful. Pay attention or you'll do yourself some damage. By now, you should all be capable of following a set of instructions.

'You have to be focussed. Everything has to be exactly right. You can't just toss everything into a cauldron and hope for the best. Yes, you can make alterations to a recipe, but before you do that I'd advise you to be sure of how the different ingredients will interact.'

He had glowered at the trembling Mr. Rigney. 'The base of your solution was brine, to which you added lye, didn't you?'

Blake Rigney had given a small nod.

'Well, Mr. Rigney,' Snape sighed, 'I'm pleased that at least you followed my instructions by wearing your gloves and safety glasses. Lye is a highly caustic substance, but you seem to have avoided injury. That's... that's good.'

He had taken a deep breath and turned to face the rest of the class. 'You all know the reason why potions cannot be brewed by muggles: a witch or wizard must channel magic to blend together the ingredients to form compounds that would not occur naturally. That was what Mr. Rigney did: his mixture of lye and brine produced sodium hypochlorite. It also formed an extremely alkaline solution, which... well, he's lucky he didn't spill any of it on himself, or it might have turned his flesh into soap.'

At that moment, Blake Rigney had looked as if he'd been stunned. His eyes were wide with terror.

Snape had grimaced. 'Go and sit down, Mr. Rigney,' he said brusquely. 'Does anyone have an idea of what Mr. Rigney did next?'

A few students had tentatively raised their hands. Snape picked one of them at random: 'yes, Miss Popkin?'

'Uhm. He added salt of hartshorn, which contains ammonia,' said Samantha Popkin. 'The combination of sodium hypochlorite and ammonia produced chlorine gas.'

'Five points to Hufflepuff,' said Snape. 'Yes, exactly right, Miss Popkin.'

He had paused for a moment, with a faraway look in his eyes. 'Well, it could have been worse,' he'd said, in an unusually philosophical tone. 'It could easily have exploded.'

This was met with a burst of laughter from some of his students. Snape had frowned at them and they had stopped, although Rhys Hoggatt hadn't been able to keep from shaking with silent mirth. Some of the others at least had the grace to look guilty.

'Right,' said Snape, blinking several times, 'who can give me some more examples of ingredients that should not be mixed, and tell me why?'

The remainder of the lesson had been taken up with an impromptu discussion of potentially dangerous combinations of ingredients, and the circumstances in which they might come into contact if the potion-maker did not take proper care. Snape had supplied examples of some of the potions accidents he had witnessed over the years. The students seemed to find it informative (some of them even seemed to be enjoying themselves).

At the end of the lesson, when the students had been filing out of the classroom, Snape had called for Blake Rigney to wait behind. The boy had the expression of a rabbit caught in a trap. He must have feared that his punishment had only been delayed.

'Next time, when you're brewing the Cleaning Solution, remember that lye should be added after all of the other ingredients,' said Snape.

Mr. Rigney waited in case Snape was going to say anything else.

'Goodbye, Mr. Rigney,' said Snape, rolling his eyes.

After that, Snape had ploughed ahead with the assignments he had yet to mark, all the while thinking longingly of going to bed early that night. He had been very hungry at dinner, and he had eaten heartily, and then he had only wanted to sleep.

It was nearly seven o'clock. Snape had returned to his quarters. But before he could surrender to his fatigue, a silvery-white shape had fluttered into the room. He glared blearily at the thing. It was Albus Dumbledore's Patronus: a phoenix.

'Ted and Andromeda Tonks are here at the castle,' it said, in Dumbledore's voice. 'I'm sure they'd like to meet you, Severus. Come to my office in half an hour.'

'Don't you think I've got enough to do?' Snape mumbled. There was no reply. The Patronus had disappeared.

Snape yawned and rubbed his eyes. 'Fine, I'll be there,' he said to no one in particular.

* * *

><p><em>Note: The title of this chapter was meant to be slightly tongue-in-cheek. What do you think?<em>


	12. From a Certain Point of View

_I want to say thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story so far, particularly Arpad Hrunta, sarista wow and SpencerReid (partly because they reviewed the last chapter and partly because they've been faithfully reading/reviewing this story right from the start)._

_You may have noticed that I'm taking more and more time between updates. I'm sorry about that. It's not that I plan to abandon this story; I'm struggling with depression and I'm finding it hard to do anything._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: From a Certain Point of View<strong>

Don't-call-me-Nymphadora Tonks was looking forward to the weekend with more than her usual eagerness. She could hardly wait to see mum and dad: it was just like Christmas had come early this year.

Yesterday, Professor Dumbledore had approached her when she was on her way to Charms. He'd asked if he could have a quiet word. Tonks's friends had waited for her (well, they knew it would be a good excuse for being late to lesson) while the headmaster said that "in light of recent events" he was of a mind to grant Tonks "special dispensation" to go home for the weekend, so she could spend time with her parents in a "loving and caring environment". He spoke very quietly and seriously as though apologising for something terrible that had happened, and it had taken Tonks a moment to realise that he was saying she could have a treat.

It seemed a bit over the top, really. Yeah, she had been hurt and upset, but she was okay now. She wasn't some precious pure-blood princess of the sort to run crying to mummy every time anyone picked on her. She was tough and independent, or at least she wanted to be. But she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was going to have a fantastic time this weekend.

She had told her friends during lunch. Felicity Heckle had been so amazed that she had dumped her bowl of soup in her lap.

'Wow, you are so lucky!' she gushed. Then she realised the mess she had made. Hot soup was seeping through her robes. 'Ow,' she said, tears in her eyes: the heat was scalding.

'Don't panic, Fliss,' said Joseph Spedding, the fifth year Hufflepuff prefect, speeding to the rescue. 'Tergeo! Tergeo!'

He cast the spell a few more times until the spilled soup was nothing more than a bad memory. Felicity was fine, her robes were dry, and there wasn't even a stain. But then she started crying, heaving great sorrowful sobs.

'Tonks, I... I d-didn't mean... I didn't mean to say you were l-lucky,' she said, as tears rolled down her face. 'I'm s-sorry! I'm so sorry! You were treated so awfully, and I-'

She gasped for breath. A howl of misery presaged a fresh round of sobs. Tonks gave her a tentative hug. She could see snot streaming from Felicity's nose: she fervently hoped that Felicity wouldn't wipe it on her robes.

'Er, Fliss, are you hurt?' said Joseph Spedding anxiously. 'Should I get a teacher?'

'She'll be okay,' said Reshmi Choudhary, smiling up at him. 'Look.'

Felicity Heckle was still sniffling, but her sobs had subsided. The girl sitting to the other side of her had discreetly handed her a handkerchief with which to wipe her nose (much to Tonks's relief). When that was done, she threw her arms around Tonks's neck, hugging her tightly.

'Oi, gerroff!' Tonks spluttered. 'Are you trying to strangle me or what?'

'Well,' said Joseph Spedding with a bemused look on his face, 'I can see my work here is done.'

Reshmi nodded. 'She says thank you, by the way.'

'Oh, er, no problem,' Joseph said, putting his wand back in his pocket and going to sit back down in his usual seat. He hadn't eaten anything yet.

'Fliss! You are such a drip!' Tonks said, exasperated, pushing Felicity away. Then, worried that she'd been unduly harsh, she said, 'um, are you okay?'

Drying her eyes, Felicity said that she was fine and not to worry and please could everyone stop staring at her. Unsurprisingly, she decided that she didn't want any more soup; she had salad instead. She was quiet for the next few minutes while she ate.

It wasn't the first time that Tonks had had to deal with Felicity's emotional outbursts, and surely it wouldn't be the last. Still, Tonks was embarrassed by all this fuss. It wasn't just that Felicity had a tendency to burst into tears whenever she was reminded of her failure to stick up for Tonks during the "bullying" incident: her fellow Hufflepuffs were all being annoyingly friendly and helpful; Tonks's former tormentors had said "sorry" to her for what they'd done, with varying degrees of insincerity; also, Tonks had received enthusiastic apologies from the Hufflepuff prefects and a few of the teachers. They were embarrassed that they hadn't noticed what was going on, and they swore that they wouldn't let it happen again.

Frankly, Tonks was sick of being the centre of attention. Under different circumstances, she might not have minded; if she had won an award or been picked for the House Quidditch team, for example, she would have enjoyed being envied and admired. But she hated this feeling that everyone was taking pity on her; she wanted to get up and shout at them to save their pity for someone who truly deserved it. The worst that had happened to Tonks was that Vivian D'Aubrey had tripped her up, and there had been a few malicious rumours and some nasty name-calling, and some other stuff, but hey, it was meaningless, childish nonsense and she'd soon forget about it. On the other hand, there were plenty of people in the world who were victims of magical accidents, diseases and the malice of Dark wizards. By comparison, Tonks felt that she was pretty well-off.

Tonks's mum, Andromeda, worked as a Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. A couple of times, Tonks had overheard her mum talking to dad about some of the most tragic cases she'd had to deal with: people with cursed wounds that would never truly heal, people who had suffered irreversible magical transformations, and people who had been tortured into insanity. Mum had been upset when she found out that her darling Dora had been listening in. Tonks had been nine years old at the time, and mum had hoped to keep her safely ignorant of such things for a while longer.

Mum had worried that Tonks might be traumatised by what she had overheard, but that hadn't happened. Instead, Tonks thought it was great; she was incredibly proud of her mum. She'd spent ages thinking about it, and she'd decided that she wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps, sort of. It was mum's job to heal the sick and look after the suffering; Tonks wanted to save people from getting hurt. Prevention was better than cure, after all.

As a little girl, she had lived in the shadow of fear cast by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters. In the future, there would be other Dark wizards, evil men and women, preying on the weak and helpless. But Tonks would be there to stop them. She didn't want to be afraid again; she wanted to fight back. She had decided that she was going to be an Auror. When she had told her parents about this ambition, mum had smiled fondly and told her that she would have to study harder at school; she'd need excellent NEWT results for the Auror Office to accept her as a recruit.

It was embarrassing that she hadn't been able to stick up for herself. She'd let those bullies walk all over her; in the end, the teachers had had to get intervene. Oh, she was grateful for the help, but she wished it hadn't been necessary. How would she ever get to be an Auror if she couldn't withstand the jibes of a few teenagers? Was she going to get all teary-eyed the first time some criminal called her a "mutant" or "freak" or "Mudblood's brat"? Nah, she needed to be tougher and stronger than that.

She hoped that after the weekend things would go back to normal, or at least as normal as Hogwarts ever was. With any luck, by Monday, the gossips would have something new and exciting to talk about. Tonks would keep a low profile for a while, just in case.

History of Magic was the lesson last thing on a Friday. Hardly any of the Hufflepuff third years bothered to pay attention, partly because most of them were daydreaming about what they were going to do with their free time over the weekend. But, even at the best of times, only the keenest and most diligent students could stand to listen to Professor Binns droning on about the Medieval Assembly of Wizards; Tonks wasn't one of them.

On several other occasions, she had been lulled into a doze by the stifling hot classroom and the soporific effects of Binns' voice, but today she was too excited to sleep. Instead, she talked with Reshmi about Quidditch; they conversed in whispers, at the back of the classroom, and Binns was so wrapped up in his lecture that he didn't seem to notice. Some of the other students started listening in, though; well, it was more interesting than paying attention to Binns.

They discussed the Hufflepuff team's chances of winning the cup this year, and decided that they were pretty good; Hufflepuff had beaten Ravenclaw in their first match, and Slytherin had only narrowly beaten Gryffindor, but there was still everything to play for. Reshmi's sister, Indira, a seventh year, was one of the Hufflepuff team's Beaters (although she had previously played as a Chaser, and she had proved herself capable of filling in for any role other than Seeker); Reshmi was fiercely proud of her.

'She'll be playing for a professional Quidditch team soon,' said Reshmi confidently. 'It's what she wants, and she's very talented.'

'Um, yeah,' said Tonks, thinking it over, 'she's one of the best.'

Actually, it was mildly scandalous that Indira Choudhary, a muggle-born, was a much better Quidditch player than the vast majority of pure-bloods. Some people seemed to think that was cheating, somehow; Indira Choudhary had never even heard of Quidditch before she came to Hogwarts, but now she was outshining the rest of them. They didn't understand that this was because Indira had put tremendous effort and hard work into training her Quidditch skills. She had always been athletic and a bit tomboyish; playing Quidditch was her favourite thing to do at Hogwarts; she would have practised all the time if she could. During the summer, when she was away from the wizarding world, she played cricket or football or (if she was feeling lazy) golf. She was supremely fit and healthy, if you ignored all the bones she'd broken over the years.

Her detractors seemed to think that hard work was meaningless and that only pure-blood or half-blood wizards and witches could possess the natural talents necessary to be good at Quidditch; they thought that having an ancestor who had been a famous Quidditch player was a guarantee of success on the pitch. There were hundreds of examples that proved how wrong they were, which they happily ignored.

There weren't many Quidditch players at Hogwarts who were really good enough to go professional. There were thirteen teams in the British and Irish Quidditch League, and they'd all need new players sooner or later. But, at Hogwarts, with a few exceptions, the current crop wasn't very promising. The Gryffindor, Charlie Weasley, was probably the best Seeker that Hogwarts had at the moment, but he was only a fourth year. The Hufflepuff Chasers weren't bad, but they weren't that good, either. The Ravenclaw team... hmm, Tonks couldn't remember that any of them had distinguished themselves on their last outing. One of the Slytherin Chasers, Phyllis Languish, probably had the requisite skill, but Tonks couldn't imagine her stooping so low as to get a job. Who else was there?

Yeah, Indira Choudhary was the best of the bunch, but that wasn't much of a compliment.

'Which team does she want to play for?' said Tonks.

'The Tutshill Tornadoes are her favourite,' said Reshmi. 'Still, I don't think she'd mind, so long as she gets to play.'

'That's a good attitude to have,' said Tonks, 'but what if the Chudley Cannons were the only ones looking for new talent?'

Doubt made Reshmi frown and purse her lips, just for a few seconds, and then her mask of demure serenity was put back in place. 'I'd still support her,' she said with a faint smile. 'They don't _always_ lose, do they?'

Their conversation continued in this vein until the bell rang to signal the end of class. After that, mindful of the fact that her parents would soon be coming to collect her, Tonks packed a bag with the stuff she wanted to take home, and then she tried to get some of her homework done. She went to dinner and ate half-heartedly; she spent most of the time staring at the clock.

At last, it was nearly seven o'clock. Tonks hurried to the Entrance Hall to wait for her parents. They arrived early; they appeared anxious to see her. Dad smiled warmly, but he couldn't conceal the worry in his eyes, and he hugged Tonks several times as if to reassure himself that she was okay. Mum was harder to read. As usual, she appeared calm and composed, and yet, Tonks didn't think she'd ever seen mum looking quite so stern before.

'I'm sorry, mum,' Tonks mumbled.

'Why?' said Andromeda Tonks. She put her arm around her daughter, holding her close, protectively. 'What do you have to be sorry about?'

'I should have...' Tonks's voice faded away. She couldn't think of what she should have done. If she could go back and change things, how would she make things better? Well, giving Melisande Spindleston a boot up the arse would be enormously satisfying, but how would that help? Wouldn't she just get into more trouble?

'Come on, Dora,' said Ted Tonks, ruffling her hair. 'We've got a meeting with Dumbledore and then we'll take you home.'

And so, they went to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore was there, ready to greet them; he appeared as soon as they approached. He invited them inside and bade them sit down. His twinkling geniality was completely absent; for once, he didn't offer anyone a lemon drop. Instead, he was the image of a solemn authority figure. He spoke gravely and regretfully, telling Mr. and Mrs. Tonks exactly what had happened, how it had been dealt with and who was being punished for it. Tonks squirmed in her seat; she'd been through this several times already and she didn't need to hear it again. Her mum and dad listened attentively; they remained grimly silent until Dumbledore had finished speaking.

'Why does Hogwarts still have a house where that kind of prejudice is encouraged?' said Andromeda Tonks acidly. 'In fact, it seems to me that the house system causes far more strife and animosity than anything else. Why do you bother with it?'

'Mrs. Tonks, I am surprised at you,' said Dumbledore, clasping his hands together, looking pensive. 'As a former member of Slytherin yourself, I would have expected-'

He stopped himself just in time. Andromeda Tonks had a look of smouldering ferocity in her eyes, daring him to finish that sentence. He hastily abandoned that train of thought before it could take him into mortal danger.

'It's true that the house system has caused problems, but it is a tradition that has lasted for more than a thousand years, ever since Hogwarts was founded,' he said. 'It is a tradition that many people are fond of; there would be a terrible outcry if I tried to get rid of it. Nearly every witch and wizard in Britain went to school at Hogwarts, and most of them are still loyal to their old houses.'

'Yes,' said Andromeda Tonks, 'some families are absurdly loyal to one or other of the houses. Do you remember how Sirius Black was mistreated by his family because he had the misfortune to be sorted into Gryffindor rather than Slytherin, Headmaster?'

Dumbledore nodded soberly. 'I've often wondered if that was the reason for some of his later actions,' he said.

'Er, Dromeda?' said Ted Tonks. He'd seen his daughter's fidgeting and taken that for a sign that it was time to go.

'Yes, dear?' said Andromeda in an altogether more pleasant tone of voice than she'd used to speak to Dumbledore.

'I agree with you- the Hogwarts house system's broken and the kids would be better off without it. But now's not a good time for an argument. It's late. Let's get Dora home, shall we?'

'Very well,' said Andromeda. She smiled sweetly at Dumbledore; the change in her demeanour was so sudden that he was quite taken aback. It was much like watching an animagus transform from a venomous snake into a human being. 'Thank you for your concern, Headmaster. You've certainly set our minds at ease.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Dumbledore. He got up and shook hands with everyone. 'Miss Tonks, I hope that you'll have a wonderful time this weekend. It's been a pleasure to see you, Mr. Tonks. Perhaps we can continue our discussion some other time, Mrs. Tonks?'

'Or perhaps you can take it up with the school governors?' said Andromeda.

'That's a possibility.'

Andromeda didn't look happy that the headmaster's response was nothing more than a vague admission that he was capable of doing as she'd suggested, but she realised that she didn't have time for this argument; Ted and Nymphadora were both getting restive.

'Goodbye, headmaster!' said Ted, loudly, as they were leaving the office. 'Thank you!'

When they left Dumbledore's office they came across Professor Snape. He had been waiting outside. He was leaning against the wall, holding one hand over his eyes, as if even the dim light was too much for him. He looked shattered. It was plain to see that he hadn't been getting enough sleep lately.

'Hi, Professor Snape,' said Tonks, giving him a wave.

Snape suddenly snapped to attention; he looked around guiltily, as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. His eyes were bleary and red-rimmed, but there was a wary alertness about them now. 'Er... yes?' he said. 'Miss Tonks?'

'He's the Potions Master,' said Tonks helpfully, for the benefit of her parents; they hadn't taken much notice of Snape until Tonks had drawn attention to him. Now they looked at him with new eyes.

'Professor Snape,' said Andromeda, 'thank you for taking good care of my daughter.'

'What?' said Snape. It took him a moment to comprehend what she'd said. 'Oh, er... it's nothing. I was just doing my job.' He spoke through gritted teeth.

'Even so, if you hadn't intervened-' Ted Tonks shrugged expansively. 'Well, we're just grateful you did, that's all.

Snape grimaced. He looked uncomfortable. Indeed, if Tonks didn't know better she'd think he looked ashamed of himself.

'Were you waiting to speak to Professor Dumbledore, sir?' she said, throwing him a lifeline; he seemed so confused.

'Er, yes, that's it,' he said. 'Although...' He hesitated briefly. 'Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, there's something I'd like to discuss with you, if you've a few moments to spare.'

* * *

><p>Snape had hurried to the headmaster's office after he'd received Dumbledore's message, but that accursed gargoyle had refused to let him in. The headmaster was in a meeting and he'd given orders that he was not to disturbed, apparently; Snape had to wonder if Dumbledore had set this up for no better reason than to annoy him. His patience tested to the limit, Snape considered whether he should express his displeasure by storming off in a huff, and he might have done that if he hadn't wanted to preserve at least a modicum of dignity.<p>

He propped himself up against the wall, inwardly cursing one very manipulative old man who seemed to think it was his right to run other people's lives for them. However, although he didn't agree with Dumbledore's methods, he had to admit that Dumbledore had the right idea: he needed to introduce himself to the Tonks family at the earliest possible juncture. They were Harry's closest living relatives in the wizarding world (discounting the Malfoys) and it would be nice for Harry to spend time with some of his relatives who didn't hate him. He would need to broach the subject carefully, though.

It was a mark of how weary he was that the sounds of approaching footsteps had not registered in his consciousness until it was almost too late. He might have drifted off into a doze, for a moment there. He had been startled into wakefulness when Miss Tonks greeted him, but it had taken him a while longer to truly pull himself together.

Tonks's parents had given him praise and thanks that he didn't deserve; he had ignored them as best he could while trying not to appear rude. As a teenager, he had been painfully awkward in social situations; years later, when he was acting as a spy, he had learned the arts of guile and persuasion. These days, he was known for being rude and abrasive, and he didn't care what anyone thought of him, but that didn't mean he'd completely forgotten his old skills. It was just that he seldom put them into practice.

'Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, there's something I'd like to discuss with you, if you've a few moments to spare,' he said politely, having had time to come up with a deception that he thought might sway them. They acquiesced, although young Miss Tonks seemed a little suspicious; she knew him well enough to know that this politeness usually meant he was being sarcastic.

'Professor Dumbledore has trusted me with an important task,' said Snape slowly. 'Perhaps this is not the best place...' He sighed wearily. This would have been so much easier if Dumbledore had let him into the headmaster's office where he could have been reasonably sure of holding this conversation in private.

'_Muffliato,'_ he said, using the spell he'd devised while he was still a student at Hogwarts and he wanted to talk with his classmates without being overheard; anyone eavesdropping on the conversation would hear only an inexplicable buzzing noise.

'Can you keep a secret?' he said somewhat theatrically; he wasn't above a bit of showmanship if it would get his audience to pay attention.

'Yes, of course,' said Mrs. Tonks, rolling her eyes.

'Get to the point, Professor,' said Mr. Tonks.

'You know me, sir,' said Miss Tonks cheerfully.

'Very well then,' said Snape, 'let me tell you about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.' He heard a sharp intake of breath from Mrs. Tonks; whatever she had expected, it was not this. 'I'm sure you've heard that Harry Potter was placed in hiding after his miraculous defeat of You Know Who. It was Professor Dumbledore's hope that he would be safe from You Know Who's remaining supporters and that he could have a normal childhood; Dumbledore didn't want people to turn Harry Potter into a spoilt celebrity before he could even walk. So...'

Snape knew that he couldn't tell the Tonkses about how Harry had been abused by his muggle relatives. He knew that nothing good could come of revealing that part of the story just yet. Instead, he crafted a tale that could only add to Dumbledore's reputation as a man of extraordinary wisdom and foresight; people would believe that, easily.

'After six years, Dumbledore has decided that it's time to introduce Harry Potter to the wizarding world, gradually, so that it doesn't come as a shock. He's a busy man, so he's delegated the responsibility to me.' Snape paused, expecting cries of disbelief. He was disappointed.

'Interesting,' said Mrs. Tonks, 'I assume you want us to help in some way?'

'Yes, if you don't mind,' said Snape. He was a little unsettled by how quickly Mrs. Tonks had seen through to the heart of the matter.

'What can we do?'

'And why'd you ask us?' said Mr. Tonks, looking bemused. 'It's an honour, really it is, but I can't help wondering.'

Searching for a plausible excuse, Snape fished around in the murky recesses of his exhausted brain; it took longer than he would have liked.

He knew that it would seem like too much of an imposition if he suggested that Andromeda Tonks had some familial duty to look out for Harry Potter's welfare. He needed to phrase this carefully so that his request would seem quite reasonable.

'Are you okay, Professor?'

'I... I'm fine, thank you, Miss Tonks,' said Snape, leaning against the wall, trying to keep from swaying from side to side. By this point, he had an idea for what he was going to say.

'Andromeda Tonks,' he said, 'you are Harry Potter's second cousin; you share a great-grandfather, Cygnus Black.'

It wasn't that Snape made a habit of studying the genealogy of various pure-blood families. He just remembered when James Potter had boasted of the great and noble deeds of the Potter family and how they had opposed the Dark Lords of times past; Avery and Wilkes had taken great pleasure in reminding him of how closely related he was to a family of Dark witches and wizards.

Mrs. Tonks inclined her head. That might have been a nod.

Snape continued: 'I think it's appropriate that some of Harry's closest living relatives should be the first people he gets to meet in the wizarding world.'

'I'm related to Harry Potter?' said Miss Tonks excitedly. 'Cool!'

That was the response that Snape had been hoping for; he smirked slightly.

'Yes, Nymphadora, you're Harry Potter's second cousin once removed,' said Mrs. Tonks without having to think about it.

Miss Tonks scowled at being called Nymphadora, but otherwise she seemed delighted by this revelation. However, Mr. and Mrs. Tonks still seemed somewhat doubtful.

'I suppose you'll need some time to think about it,' said Snape. 'Well, I should let you go; I expect you have things you'd rather be doing. May I owl you in a few days?'

'Certainly,' said Mrs. Tonks, 'I'll look forward to it.'

Mr. Tonks nodded his agreement as well.

'I'm going home for the weekend,' Miss Tonks piped up. 'Professor Dumbledore said I could.'

'Well, Miss Tonks, that was nice of him,' said Snape, cancelling his Muffliato charm. 'Come back to school refreshed, won't you?'

'I will!' she said, cheerful as ever. 'Bye, sir!'

'Goodbye, Professor,' said Mr. Tonks, shaking his hand, 'it's been interesting to meet you.'

Snape reflected that "interesting" didn't necessarily mean "pleasant". He gave his best impersonation of a smile and shook Mr. Tonks's hand.

'Thank you again, Professor,' said Mrs. Tonks, 'for everything.'

Snape didn't take gratitude well; he hadn't had much opportunity to learn. He muttered something like, 'it's my job,' and felt himself getting embarrassed.

After the Tonks family had departed, Snape went up to the gargoyle and asked to be let into the headmaster's office. Dumbledore was there, sitting at his desk; Snape was disconcerted by the brightness of his smile and the mist in his eyes.

'Ah, Severus,' said Dumbledore, 'what did I ever do to deserve your loyalty?'

'I can't imagine,' said Snape, frowning. 'Was it really necessary for you to call me here and then leave me standing outside for half an hour?'

'My meeting with the Tonkses ran on for longer than I anticipated,' Dumbledore admitted. 'I didn't think it would be politic to let you burst in here while we were having a private conversation. Besides, it was better that your encounter with the Tonkses should seem somewhat accidental. You did an excellent job, by the way; I was impressed.'

'How did you-?'

Thinking about it, Snape realised that there had been a couple of portraits on the walls very close to where he had been standing, close enough that they would have been included in the radius of his Muffliato spell. Hogwarts' magical portraits were all bound to serve the headmaster and report back to him. Well, that was probably just as well. Snape didn't mind that Dumbledore had found a way to spy on his meeting with the Tonks family; Dumbledore needed to know what lies Snape had told so that he could corroborate them if anyone asked.

'I see,' said Snape, with a heavy sigh. He knew he should be angry with Dumbledore, but it would have cost him too much effort. Right now, he had to strain to feel any emotions other than stolid indifference and a yearning for sleep.

'You encouraged the Tonkses to believe that I'm in control, that I have some master plan for Harry Potter's upbringing, that I have intended all of this from the start,' said Dumbledore. 'A useful falsehood: I wish it was true. You've covered up my mistakes rather well.'

'I didn't do it for you,' said Snape. 'Was I supposed to say "Dumbledore left the Boy Who Lived in the dubious care of his loathsome muggle relatives"? I fail to see how that would help our cause.'

Dumbledore looked abashed. 'Even so...'

'Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?'

'I must confess to wondering why neither you nor Remus ever considered the idea that one of you could be Harry Potter's guardian. Instead you immediately decided to pass on the responsibility to the Tonkses or to some other wizarding family. Don't you think that you could be a father to Harry, Severus?'

'Out of the question,' Snape snapped. 'The Ministry of Magic would never let the Boy Who Lived be raised by a werewolf or a former Death Eater.'

'You were acquitted.'

'You vouched for me. It was enough that I wasn't imprisoned; it didn't free me from all suspicion.' Snape shook his head. 'But even if that was not true, I could not be Harry Potter's guardian. I would be incapable of treating him fairly as he deserves. He reminds me too much of his parents, both of them. I cannot be what he needs.'

Dumbledore gazed down at his desk for a moment. He sighed unhappily. He made his mind up: he'd change the subject.

'Well,' he said, 'I've heard many good things about your lessons recently, Severus. You've shown remarkable improvement; I wanted to congratulate you.'

'Earlier this year, you told me that a standard of professionalism and civilised behaviour is required of every member of staff at Hogwarts,' said Snape, remembering. 'I took that lesson to heart.'

That had been after the incident which had resulted in five students having to stay in the hospital wing overnight. Dumbledore's wrath had been terrifying. Because of that, Snape had come to his senses; for years, he had been sinking into a mire of frustration and unhappiness, acting like a bully, handing out unfair punishments and displaying blatant favouritism, because he felt that it didn't matter, that whatever he did made no real difference to anyone. Afterwards, he had been ashamed and disgusted with himself, and eventually he'd decided that it would be better for everyone if he left Hogwarts.

'You will be missed, Severus,' said Dumbledore. 'Hogwarts won't be the same without you.'

'Never mind,' Snape sneered; he couldn't help but sneer at that vapid and platitudinous remark. 'Have you had any luck in finding a new Potions master?'

'Ah yes, I've been in contact with most of the candidates you suggested. Thus far, only one of them has expressed any interest in the role: Carmenta Vásquez.

Snape raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. Carmenta Vásquez, a Peruvian (although she'd lived in the USA for some years), was the inventor of a number of antidotes, potions and concoctions, and a substance to douse most forms of magical fire. She was more than qualified for the job, but he hadn't seriously considered her as a possibility; there were too many problems in the way. It had been a long shot.

'When's she coming for interview?'

Dumbledore stiffened, looking discomfited. 'I do not think she would be suitable for the role,' he said shortly. 'She has suffered a recent personal tragedy. If she took up the post she would regret it. Immigrating is not an effective way of coping with grief.'

'Just how recent was this personal tragedy?'' said Snape, his brow furrowed with mistrust.

'It's been a year and three months.'

'Then surely she's had time to get over it! Or are you going to decide what's best for her before you've even met her?'

'Very well,' said Dumbledore. 'I'll give her an invitation. It will take another few days before we hear anything, at least.' He groaned. He had thought his qualms were entirely reasonable, but perhaps Snape was right and it was true that he interfered in other people's lives too much. 'I think it's unfair to ask her to come all this way when there's no guarantee that she'll get the job.'

'That's for her to decide,' Snape shrugged. 'If she thinks it's worthwhile, then who are you to say otherwise?'

He paced back and forth across Dumbledore's office, coming to rest against one of the bookshelves.

'Potion masters are not common,' he said in a monotone. 'All across the world, there are plenty of opportunities for anyone with the right skills. I daresay I could walk out of here right now and I'd get half a dozen job offers... although I'd probably have to emigrate first; former Death Eaters are pretty much unemployable here in Britain. But in America, or Transylvania...'

He took a deep breath. 'Carmenta Vásquez is abundantly qualified; she'd be a great asset to Hogwarts. If she wants the job you should at least give her a chance. Were you planning to disregard all of my suggestions if they'd suffered tragedies at any time in their lives?' He paused, considering. 'Alright, who did you have in mind for the job?'

'I thought maybe I could coax Horace Slughorn out of retirement,' said Dumbledore.

Snape snorted. Leaving aside his dislike of the man, he could accept that Slughorn was a competent teacher. But still...

'Slughorn was Hogwarts' Potion master for five decades,' he pointed out. 'Hasn't he earned his quiet retirement?'

'Isn't that for him to decide?' said Dumbledore, smiling.

He looked up to see Snape laying his head down on a first edition copy of Bathilda Bagshot's _A_ _History of Magic_. 'Severus, I really think you should go to bed.'

'That's something we can agree on,' Snape mumbled. 'I'll see myself out.'

He lurched towards the door. And then... well, he must have found his way back to his room, somehow. The next day, when he woke up, he was in his own bed.

* * *

><p><em><span>Notes:<span>_  
><em>I used to work at a school where they were in the process of implementing a house system much like the one in the Harry Potter books, where all the students were randomly sorted into one of five houses. The houses were all named after an industry that was important in Britain at the time of the Industrial Revolution (there were Chainmakers, Glassworkers, Steelworkers, Nailmakers and... I forget). The house system was something of an experiment to try and drive up standards with a bit of healthy competition. I imagine they'd have gotten rid of it pretty sharpish if it caused problems and fomenting rivalries like in the Harry Potter books.<em>

_One other thing that always kind of bothered me about the Harry Potter books is that the British wizarding world seems so parochial and insular. There's never a point where someone says, 'right, we need a new DADA tutor and there aren't many people who want the job. Maybe we should cast the net a little wider this time?'_

_I'm sure there'd be people in Ireland or France or Germany or wherever who could do better than Dolores Umbridge or Gilderoy Lockhart. And the British wizarding world seems so small that I can't imagine there'd be too many barriers to foreign wizards who wanted to work in Britain, so yeah._

_I kind of want to explore the wider world of Harry Potter. I was intrigued by the glimpses of other countries we got in the (real world versions of) Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Quidditch Through the Ages. I have a few ideas for some side stories..._

_I mostly try to avoid fanon clichés (yeah... you won't find any mention of "magical cores" in this fanfic), but I couldn't resist the idea of Andromeda Tonks working as a Healer. It fit perfectly with what I wanted to do with the character._


	13. Trying to Help

_Having looked at the Story Stats for 'Broken Lives', I am pleasantly surprised by the number of hits coming from people in Finland. (I'd expected most of the hits to come from the USA, the UK, Canada and Australia, and I was right about that, but still... a lot of hits from Finland!) And to those people, I want to say, "Hi! I hope you've enjoyed reading my story!"_

_In fact, that goes for everyone. I wouldn't write 'Broken Lives' if I didn't hope that people would enjoy reading it._

_Thanks to sarista wow for some ideas that influenced the writing of this chapter._

_Also, I want to say a special thank you to Lupinesence for writing so many reviews. Lovely, lovely reviews!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen: Trying to Help<strong>

Half-asleep, drifting in and out of his muddled, unconscious state, Remus Lupin was only dimly aware of where he was and what had happened to him. Several times, Madam Pomfrey had woken him up to give him another potion. There were so many: potions to relieve pain or replenish his blood or regrow his bones. By now, they all seemed to blur into one. The vile taste didn't bother him anymore.

Mostly, he dozed, lying on his hospital bed, as he had done for the past day or so. He could do little else. He was very weak, recovering from the ill effects of injury and fatigue. His muscles were still protesting at how they had been stretched and twisted out of shape during his transformation. While his lunar madness had possessed him, he had smashed his head against the walls of the Shrieking Shack. He had scented human flesh, a lingering odour, somewhere close by; it was delicious, mouth-watering, and he'd hungered for it. But his prey had eluded him. Frustrated rage had driven him into a frenzy; he had savaged himself, biting and clawing, ripping chunks out of his own body. He had hurt himself very badly.

Fortunately, he would never remember the worst of it. He had slept through much of the pain. Madam Pomfrey had healed his wounds, fixed his broken bones and put him back together. She had brought water for him when he'd mumbled that he was thirsty. She cared for him. That was a rare luxury as far as Remus Lupin was concerned.

It was just like old times, like being a schoolboy all over again, as if the past ten years had been a horrible dream and nothing more. He was almost expecting Sirius to come bounding through the doors at any moment, with Peter and James following close behind. He smiled fondly at the thought. And then he remembered what Sirius had done, and how Peter and James had died, and his smile died on his lips.

His newly healed wounds were itchy, and he was tempted to scratch at them, but it was too much of an effort. Blearily, he recalled that there was something he had promised to do, and he knew he'd better get up and get on with it... soon.

Perhaps he had fallen asleep again. The next thing he knew, Madam Pomfrey was standing over him with a spoon and a potion bottle.

'I didn't want to wake you, but you've been asleep all day,' she said fretfully. 'Are you hungry, Remus?'

He thought about it for a moment. 'Y-yes,' he rasped. He didn't have much of an appetite in the days after he transformed, but he knew that he must eat something. His stomach was a yawning chasm.

One of the Hogwarts house-elves brought him an apple, a piece of toast and a cup of tea. He ate without enthusiasm. He waited for his tea to cool before drinking it.

Before long, Madam Pomfrey was back. 'Remus, the headmaster's here to see you,' she said. 'Shall I send him in?'

Lupin hesitated. After the full moon, he usually had terrible dreams of blood, killing and chaos. This time, Dumbledore had featured prominently in the worst of those dreams; he had been a threatening, sinister presence. Now that Lupin was awake, his dreams were fast fading away, but that feeling of dread and trepidation had remained with him.

'Or I can send him away, if you don't feel ready to have visitors yet,' said Madam Pomfrey, looking worried.

Albus Dumbledore was Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and so on, but Madam Pomfrey was the supreme ruler of the Hospital Wing. In this place, her authority was absolute. Lupin didn't doubt that Dumbledore would acquiesce if Madam Pomfrey told him to leave. It was a tempting notion.

However, he knew that he had to face up to his own problems sooner or later; he couldn't continue to hide behind Madam Pomfrey's skirts. He had to be brave and bold, like the Gryffindor he was meant to be.

It was hard to remember _why_ he was angry with Dumbledore. His recent memories were still clouded. He felt an acute sense of loss and disappointment; he felt like he'd been betrayed. Dumbledore had made it possible for Lupin to go to Hogwarts, make friends and mingle with normal people, and Lupin would always be grateful to him for that, but...

Dumbledore had been Voldemort's foremost opponent and he was largely responsible for preserving the institutions of wizarding Britain at a time when it had seemed that they might collapse in a tide of darkness and despair. He was a man of tremendous wisdom and experience and he always had everyone's best interests at heart.

He...

And then, Lupin remembered what had happened to Harry Potter. He remembered what Mrs. Figg had told him and how appalled he'd been. And, although Dumbledore had admitted his mistakes and he seemed to be trying to make amends, Lupin wasn't ready to forgive him. He had trusted Dumbledore too much.

'I'll speak to him now,' he rasped. He drank some of his tea to moisten his dry throat. 'Tell him that, if you would, Poppy.'

Lupin would never have dared call Madam Pomfrey by her first name back when he was a schoolboy, but these days she insisted on it. He felt a bit uncomfortable about it, but it could have been worse. Once, he had very nearly forgotten himself: he had almost called her 'mum'. Luckily, he'd restrained himself just in time.

She went off to fetch the headmaster and Lupin finished his cup of tea.

Albus Dumbledore shuffled into the room. His tread was heavy like that of a man who was carrying many burdens. It might just have been Lupin's imagination, but Dumbledore had a gaunt, shrivelled look about him. His eyes had lost their twinkling brightness and he wore robes of sombre dark grey. His long silvery beard and hair seemed almost ethereal, like those of a ghost. He looked ancient, careworn and withered.

All at once, Lupin felt compassion and sympathy welling up inside him. He hardened his heart.

'How are you, Remus?' said Dumbledore.

'I'll be fine, thank you, Headmaster,' said Lupin in tones of chilly politeness.

'Was it difficult to sneak into Hogwarts without my knowing, on Thursday?' said Dumbledore with a crooked smile. 'I'll admit I was surprised when I came to the Hospital Wing yesterday to find you here. I was expecting to have to explain to Madam Pomfrey that you'd taken refuge in the Shrieking Shack during the full moon and that you'd be in need of healing, but you had already neatly circumvented the need for me to do anything. That was cleverly done.'

'It was nothing,' Lupin shrugged.

'Ah, yes. I might have known. Breaking the rules, sneaking around the castle at night, defying authority... that was how you spent your school years, wasn't it?'

Lupin drew in a breath, sharply, through his teeth. He frowned at Dumbledore. He suspected that the old man had a point he wanted to make, that there was a deeper meaning to this topic of conversation, but he couldn't think what it was. Surely Dumbledore had better things to do with his time than to try to make Lupin feel guilty about some of his youthful misdemeanours?

'What is this about?' he said quietly.

'My dear boy, I've been trying to figure out the motives behind some of your actions,' said Dumbledore. 'I was amused at how easily you outwitted me, but... why did you do it?'

'It was a minor act of defiance,' Lupin sighed. He wrinkled his forehead. 'You're not omniscient, Headmaster, and... I just wanted to remind you of that fact.'

Dumbledore's face brightened and he nodded as though Lupin had said something revelatory. 'Yes, that's what I thought,' he mused.

'What does it matter, anyway?' said Lupin.

'Oh, it doesn't, not really,' said Dumbledore, 'except that it helps me to understand your current state of mind. Which leads me to my next question: why did you ask to use the Shrieking Shack during the full moon, earlier this week?'

'Because I wanted a safe place to transform into a werewolf,' Lupin said, drearily stating the obvious.

'Perhaps I didn't make myself entirely clear,' said Dumbledore in a tone of mild reproof. 'You haven't asked to use the Shrieking Shack since you left Hogwarts. I know that you've found other secure locations where you can last out the full moon, and they've served you well, these past few years. So what has changed? Why did you decide you needed to use the Shrieking Shack, this time?'

'I was worried that I'd be evicted from my flat,' said Lupin. 'I haven't paid the rent in a couple of months.'

'You wouldn't be in your flat during the full moon,' Dumbledore pointed out, 'not unless you wanted to wreck the place.'

'Well...'

Lupin's features were twisted with shame and anxiety. He shifted uneasily.

'I've had unscrupulous landlords in the past,' he said. 'I have to take what I can get. Because, well... I can't hold down a job with regular hours and I don't want people asking too many questions. My options are fairly limited. Some of the landlords I've known only cared about money, and that was actually one of their nicer qualities; they didn't get curious about who I was or where I'd come from, as long as I had the money to pay. I could usually scrape together enough to keep them satisfied for a while.

'But the full moon always knocks me back. Sometimes it takes me an entire week to recover. A lot can happen in a week.'

He hesitated, staring at the floor for a moment.

'You were worried that you would be evicted from your flat while you were too gravely wounded to be able to do anything about it,' said Dumbledore. 'Has that happened before?'

'Once, I returned to the flat I'd been renting to find that my landlord had kicked me out, some new tenants had moved in, and all of my belongings had been scattered on the pavement outside,' said Lupin. 'By the time I got there, most of the choicer items had been looted; by whom, I don't know. That day, I lost some things that were of sentimental value to me: my father's old watch, a rag rug that my mother had made, and an album of wizarding photographs.'

He sighed dolefully. 'To cut a long story short, I was severely reprimanded by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for causing a potential breach in the Statute of Secrecy. And it's not as though I ever got my photos back.'

Dumbledore put a sympathetic hand on Lupin's shoulder. 'Oh, Remus,' he said sadly, 'life has not been kind to you.'

'I'm better off than most other werewolves,' Lupin pointed out. 'I've had chances that they'll never have, and I've always tried to be grateful for that, but...' He glanced at Dumbledore and then turned away, shamefaced.

'Ambition is very much a part of human nature,' said Dumbledore. 'That's not necessarily a bad thing: what would be the point in living if there was nothing to strive for, no challenges to overcome and no rewards to be gained?'

'Most people want more than what they've got,' Lupin said. 'I'm no different.'

Trying to get back to the subject at hand, Dumbledore said, 'well, when I spoke to Madam Pomfrey she said you should be ready to go home by tomorrow. Your home should be perfectly safe; you've been gone hardly any time at all.'

'That's a relief,' Lupin nodded, 'but I had another reason for asking this favour of you, Headmaster: right now, I can't afford to spend a week recovering from my injuries. I'm sure Snape will want to move forward his plans to rescue Harry Potter as soon as possible; I have to be available to help him.'

A thought occurred to him, suddenly. 'What time is it?' he asked, sitting bolt upright.

'It's nearly four o'clock in the afternoon,' said Dumbledore. 'It's Saturday, if you were wondering.'

'I was supposed to meet Snape earlier,' said Lupin, trying to get up. 'We had planned to discuss what we've learned and what to do next. I'd better apologise to him-'

'He'll understand,' said Dumbledore. He arched his eyebrows and said, with a hint of amusement in his voice, 'where do you think you're going?'

Weak as the proverbial kitten, Lupin had put on his dressing gown and taken a few tottering steps towards the door. He sat back down on the side of the bed, slumping his shoulders.

'My dear boy, I know you're eager to help Harry, but first you need to rest and recover your strength,' said Dumbledore chidingly. 'I'll ask Professor Snape to come and see you later on, if you like.'

'Alright,' said Lupin. He wasn't sure how Snape would react to any of this. He remembered how, during his schooldays, Snape had been vicious and ready to lash out at the slightest provocation (or so it had seemed, at the time; with the benefit of hindsight, Lupin had to admit that Snape's behaviour had been at least partially justified; he remembered how mercilessly his friends had bullied Snape). Anyway, years had passed since then. Lupin and Snape had both had time to grow up. Old grudges hardly mattered at all while Harry Potter was still being mistreated; they could set aside their differences for long enough to rescue Harry from the Dursleys.

'Thank you, Headmaster,' said Lupin, after a slight hesitation.

Dumbledore stood thinking for a moment. There was an expression of intense concentration on his face as of a man trying to solve a particularly intricate puzzle. At last, he said, 'Remus, you have friends and there are people who care deeply about you, myself and Madam Pomfrey to name but two. But you don't take advantage of that fact; you rarely ask anything of anyone; you persist in struggling on alone. Since you left Hogwarts, you've made only one request of me, this week, and you did that for Harry Potter's sake. You have asked nothing for yourself.'

'What do you suggest I do, then?' said Lupin. He had gone very pale. 'Should I leech off my friends, expecting them to feed me and pay my bills? Or should I come back here, asking Madam Pomfrey to heal my wounds and look after me, month after month?' He clenched his teeth. 'No, I won't. It's bad enough that I can't afford to pay what I owe my landlord. I'm not going to be a burden to anyone else.'

'Lupin, on Thursday night, while you were transformed, you fractured your skull!' Dumbledore protested. 'What would you have done if Madam Pomfrey hadn't been here to look after you?'

And then realisation struck him. He rubbed his eyes. He felt a migraine coming on. 'What do you _usually_ do when you've injured yourself that badly?' he said.

'Werewolves are very tough,' said Lupin. 'If something doesn't kill me outright, I'll probably survive; that may be the only reason I'm still alive after all these years. I heal quickly, too, but not so quickly that I can just ignore the worst of my injuries. A few times, I've had to crawl on my hands and knees, in agony, leaking blood all over the place, until I could get back to where I'd stashed my clothes and wand. Then, I had to Apparate to St. Mungo's.'

'But, if you were that badly injured, Apparition should have killed you,' said Dumbledore, aghast.

'That's pretty much what the Healers said after I'd nearly disembowelled myself that one time,' said Lupin with a morbid grin.

Dumbledore was impressed, despite himself. He had heard that werewolves were extraordinarily resilient, but he hadn't been sure of what that meant, exactly. At school, Lupin had been a frail little boy; it was hard for Dumbledore to reconcile his mental image of Lupin with the wiry, hard-bitten young man who was now sat in front of him.

'So, Remus, you're not so proud that you won't seek medical help when you really need it,' he said. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

'I'm not a complete idiot.'

Dumbledore chose not to dignify that statement with a response. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts.

'My dear boy, I wish I'd known how you'd been living these past few years,' he said, with a heavy sigh. 'By now, I could have done something to help you. But you didn't let anyone know; you'd rather suffer in silence.'

Lupin winced. 'With all due respect, Headmaster,' he said hoarsely, 'over the years, you've taught almost every witch and wizard living in Britain today. There so many people who need- and _deserve_- help, but you can't take care of everyone. No one can. It just can't be done.' He shivered. 'Why should I get any special treatment?'

'That's nonsense, Remus, and you know it,' said Dumbledore. 'You are a member of the Order of the Phoenix. For years, you did what I asked, braved many dangers, without complaint or hesitation; you fought as hard as anyone. Why shouldn't I give you special treatment? I owe you that much, and more.'

A complicated expression crossed Lupin's face. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He subsided, staring at the floor.

'Can you really afford to be proud, Remus?'

Anger flared in Lupin's eyes. He made as if to get up, but he hadn't the strength. He might have fallen off the bed if Dumbledore hadn't reached out a hand to steady him.

'No,' Lupin said bitterly. He heaved a deep breath. 'I can't.'

With a seraphic smile, Dumbledore said, 'it occurs to me that, for many years, the teaching of History of Magic at Hogwarts has left much to be desired. Professor Binns has served the school faithfully for more than two centuries, but I think it's past time for his well-deserved retirement. I have in mind a younger, more energetic teacher to take his place, someone who can enliven his pupils' interest in the history and culture of the wizarding world; perhaps, before long, students will look forward to their History of Magic lessons as something other than an opportunity for a snooze.'

Lupin gave Dumbledore a look of dawning comprehension. 'Are you offering me the job?'

'Oh, what a good idea!' said Dumbledore, widening his eyes as if surprised. 'Yes, I think it would solve a number of problems.'

'I don't know if I'm qualified.'

'As I recall, you achieved an 'Outstanding' result on your NEWT,' said Dumbledore. 'But then, History of Magic was always one of your best subjects. Unlike some I could mention you didn't have any difficulty with paying attention in class.'

'I've never been a teacher before,' said Lupin, mulling it over. He wasn't opposed to the idea; it was just that he needed some time to get used to it.

'It's a learning curve,' said Dumbledore. 'You will be fine, I'm sure.'

'How will the school governors react to the idea?' said Lupin.

'Leave that to me. I'll talk them around.'

'What about the parents? I can't imagine that they'll be happy to have a werewolf teaching their children. Or were you planning to keep it a secret?'

'I still need to figure out some of the details,' said Dumbledore evasively.

Lupin frowned. 'How is this going to work?' he asked. 'I can hide in the Shrieking Shack when the full moon comes, but I'll need time to recover, afterwards. That's a few days, every month, during which I won't be able to teach. By the end of the year, that's a lot of time wasted.

'Also, sooner or later, the students will notice the pattern to my disappearances. They'll realise that I'm a werewolf.'

'Would that be such a bad thing, Remus? Most people in the wizarding world know werewolves only as the terrible monsters of legend. This is an opportunity for you to show the next generation of witches and wizards that werewolves are as human as anyone else when it's not full moon.'

'Controversial, to say the least,' said Lupin. He lowered his head, wearily, as if it was suddenly too heavy to hold it upright.

'Someone else can take your classes while you're indisposed,' said Dumbledore. 'Your students need never know that it's not you; I'll have the Potions master brew some Polyjuice Potion.'

'That sounds unnecessarily complicated,' said Lupin. He lay back down on the bed, resting his head on the pillow.

Dumbledore could see that Lupin was losing his battle against fatigue. He decided to bring this conversation to a close before Lupin inevitably succumbed.

'If you want the job, I see no reason why you shouldn't have it,' he said. 'We can prevail over any problems that may arise. I think it would be perfect for you, but of course it's your decision.'

'Thank you, Headmaster,' Lupin murmured. His eyelids fluttered.

'I'll leave you to think about it, shall I?' said Dumbledore as he turned to go. 'Sleep well, Remus.'

* * *

><p>Lupin woke to find that Madam Pomfrey had brought him a fresh jug of water. It was sitting on his bedside table. He sat up and poured himself a cup. His throat was parched and his mouth was dry; he drank greedily.<p>

It was early evening, by this point. He felt content and well rested.

'How are you feeling, Remus?' said Madam Pomfrey. She'd come bustling over when she'd seen him sitting up in bed. 'Are you in any pain?'

'I feel good, thank you, Poppy,' said Lupin, smiling. Actually, he still felt quite fragile, but the pain was long gone and his scars didn't itch as much as they had before.

'Would you like something to eat?'

Lupin's appetite was returning. 'What can I have?' he asked.

Madam Pomfrey called for one of the house-elves, Dink, who was only too happy to list some of the foods that were being prepared for dinner that night. On most days, Lupin would have been tempted by any of those dishes. They all sounded delicious. But, today he was sickened by the thought of food; too well he remembered the werewolf's hunger for human flesh.

Looking ever more disheartened, Dink continued to recite the names of foods that the house-elves had made. And then, Lupin heard a name that set off a wave of nostalgia that washed away any sense of revulsion he might have felt.

'Can I have liver and onions, please?' he said excitedly.

Gratified that he'd at last hit upon a food that didn't make Lupin want to retch, Dink beamed and promised that he'd be 'back in a jiffy, Mister Lupin, sir.'

He was as good as his word. It was less than a minute before he'd returned with a plate of steaming liver and onions with gravy, mashed potatoes and some vegetables on the side.

'This looks wonderful, Dink,' said Lupin happily. 'My mother used to make liver and onions like this. Comfort food, she said.'

Dink bowed so low that he might have been kissing the floor. He then vanished with a faint 'pop'.

Lupin ate slowly. The liver had a strong, rich flavour and he didn't like it as much as he'd thought he would. The Hogwarts house-elves were highly skilled chefs, but they couldn't compete with Lupin's cherished memories of his mother's cooking. Nevertheless, Lupin finished his plateful.

When she came over, Madam Pomfrey smiled to see that Lupin had eaten so well.

'Professor Snape is here to see you,' she said.

'Ah, good,' said Lupin. 'Show him in, please.'

Severus Snape came striding into the room. He was carrying a large box of Chocolate Frogs.

'These are from Dumbledore,' he said stiffly, putting down the box on Lupin's bedside table. 'Apparently, he forgot to give them to you when he was here earlier. So he asked if I wouldn't mind playing delivery boy.'

'Well, that was kind of him,' said Lupin, opening the box, 'and thank you, Snape.'

Before Madam Pomfrey could go away and leave them in relative privacy, Lupin called out to her, 'Chocolate Frog, Poppy?'

She looked like her immediate reaction would have been to refuse, but she relented. 'Ooh, go on then, Remus.'

'Would you like one, Snape?'

Snape shook his head. 'If you're willing to let Dumbledore buy his way back into your good graces with a few sweeties, that's your business, but I don't see why I should,' he smirked.

He dragged a chair over to Lupin's bed so he could sit down. His face was set in purposeful expression.

'I'm sorry I didn't come to see you at the time we'd agreed, earlier today,' said Lupin. 'Well...' He indicated his hospital bed and some of his fresh scars.

'That's understandable,' said Snape.

He cleared his throat. He glanced around suspiciously in case anyone was listening in, glaring at the walls; Madam Pomfrey had gone back to her office, but there one student in the Hospital Wing, lying on one of the beds at the other end of the room, asleep. Waving his wand, Snape said, '_muffliato_.'

Satisfied that this conversation would be kept secret, Snape turned to Lupin. 'We had agreed to meet up to discuss our plans to find 'the child' a new home. Shall we get on with it?'

Lupin noticed that Snape was choosing his words carefully, as if he feared that despite his precautions someone might still be spying on them. He wondered two things: 'what had happened to increase Snape's paranoia since their last meeting?' and 'did Snape really think that anyone who would go to so much trouble to spy on them would be fooled by them not mentioning Harry Potter by name?' He was reminded of Mad-Eye Moody's obsession with 'constant vigilance!'

'Alright,' said Lupin. 'I went to Gringotts and I've seen the Potters' will. You asked me to study it in detail so that you could examine it with Legilimency. I've done that.'

'Well done. You've proven yourself capable of following a set of instructions,' said Snape in a bored tone. He decided to speak plainly; if anyone was listening, Lupin's mention of "the Potters" would already have given the game away. 'I have one question: it seems reasonable to surmise that Sirius Black was named as Harry's guardian in the event of the untimely deaths of his parents. But I doubt that Lily- and James, I suppose- would have been so foolish as to pin all their hopes on a man famed for his recklessness. Who was their second choice?'

'Vernon and Petunia Dursley were named as the people who would look after Harry if Sirius was "unable to carry out" his duties as godfather-' Lupin heard Snape's sharp intake of breath. A savage sneer twisted his face. Lupin hastened to reassure him: '-but that part of the will was crossed out. I think Lily had a change of heart. She tried to make it clear that she _didn't_ want the Dursleys to take care of her son. Underneath, it was written that Dumbledore should decide how Harry should be raised if Sirius couldn't. That was the last amendment that the Potters made to their will. They died a week later.'

'Hmm. That's interesting, but it doesn't tell us much that we don't already know,' said Snape. 'I'd like to take a closer look at the will later. But, for now...'

He sat back in his chair, folding his arms. 'I went to see Arabella Figg earlier this week. She seemed quite willing to help us. She might make a useful ally. Her house could serve as a base of operations when we finally put our plans into action.'

'I hope you like cats,' said Lupin.

'I don't see that it matters. It won't be for long.'

'I've been researching how muggles deal with cases of child abuse,' said Lupin. 'It would be an understatement to say that they take them very seriously. So I had an idea: we could ask Mrs. Figg to phone the police and tell them how Harry has been mistreated and she's afraid that it's getting worse. I'm sure she'll be very convincing. Then, when the police come to investigate, we'll make sure that the Dursleys can't hide the evidence of how they've locked Harry in a cupboard every night and forced him to slave away doing household chores... and so on. The Dursleys will be arrested, I've no doubt, and Harry will be taken into care.' He scratched his head thoughtfully. 'After a month or two, we'll have our candidates for Harry's new wizarding family make a formal application to foster him.'

'You think we can do all of that through the muggle courts?' said Snape carefully. He was considering Lupin's proposal. It wasn't completely terrible. But it had some obvious flaws. Ignoring those that could be easily dealt with by magic, he took a few moments to deliberate on what he thought were the main problems with this plan.

'I'd prefer to avoid involving the Wizengamot if at all possible,' said Lupin. 'I visited the Wizengamot's Administration Services on Tuesday; I spent several hours looking through their records of guardianship hearings over the past decade. Suffice to say, I was appalled by the flagrant dishonesty and corruption of those who were supposed to have the children's best interests at heart.' He grimaced. 'We can get this done, legally, without giving the Ministry of Magic or the Wizengamot a chance to interfere.'

'We'd need to keep careful track of Harry's whereabouts,' said Snape. 'If we follow your plan, Harry could very easily vanish into the muggle foster care system.' He held out a hand to forestall Lupin's reply. 'I know, Dumbledore would almost certainly have a way to find him, or we could use the Hogwarts register, but let's not make any silly mistakes. I don't want to have to waste time undoing the damage.'

'Could you make some of your Traceable Paste?' Lupin suggested.

'I'll do that,' Snape agreed.

'Also, how do you propose that we persuade the muggle authorities to accept the family we choose as Harry's new foster parents?' he said. 'With memory charms? Falsified documents? The Imperius Curse?' He smiled mockingly. 'I hadn't realised that you could be so ruthless, Lupin.'

'It shouldn't be too difficult,' said Lupin. 'We might not even have to use magic.' He paused for a few seconds, looking intensely thoughtful. 'If, for example, we get the Tonks family to go along with this plan... well, Ted Tonks is muggleborn. His background would probably stand up to muggle scrutiny with only a few minor changes. The Tonkses could go through all the proper procedures, presenting themselves as a nice, normal family, keen to foster Harry. Actually, fostering is supposed to be a temporary thing, so maybe they should make it plain from the start that they intend to adopt Harry if all goes well. Hmm...'

He scratched his chin. 'I don't know the Tonkses, so I've no idea if they'd agree to be part of this plan or even if they'd be suitable,' he admitted.

'I've met Ted and Andromeda Tonks,' said Snape. 'They came to Hogwarts earlier this week for a meeting with the Headmaster. I liked them well enough.'

A flicker of surprise passed over Lupin's face. He said, 'I asked around after the Tonks family but I couldn't think of an excuse to contact them. Can I assume that's all taken care of?'

'I may have led them to believe that Dumbledore had decided that it was time for Harry to meet some of his relatives in the wizarding world,' said Snape, frowning. 'I didn't say anything about the Dursleys or that we're looking for new foster parents for Harry.'

'We should break it to them gently.'

Snape was pleased that they had the basis of a workable plan. They could work out the fine details another time, when Lupin wasn't lying in a hospital bed looking pathetic. He was already dreaming up some of the preparations he would make; how could he make absolutely certain that this plan would succeed?

'I give you permission to use Legilimency on me,' said Lupin, 'if you want to examine the will now.'

'Do you what Legilimency does to someone who hasn't quite recovered from a brain injury, Lupin?' said Snape, looking at him curiously.

'Er... no, I don't.'

'Neither do I,' said Snape with an unpleasant smirk. 'Would you like to find out?'

Lupin shrank back. 'I think not,' he said.

'A wise choice,' said Snape, still with that gleam in his eyes. In theory, Legilimency shouldn't do any real harm to someone who was in the process of recovering from a brain injury, but it wasn't the sort of thing he was in a hurry to put to the test.

There was one more thing he should tell Lupin. It was of momentous import, so he had saved it until last; if he had mentioned it earlier in the conversation they wouldn't have gotten anything else done.

'Several nights ago, I broke into the Dursleys' house while they were asleep. I released Harry Potter from his cupboard, gave him some food, explained to him about the wizarding world and showed him a few spells. I promised him that I would come back for him.'

Lupin's eyes were wide and there was an expression of undisguised longing on his face. He seemed to have stopped breathing. 'Y-you did?' he asked. 'When was this? Can I come, next time?'

'Breathe, Lupin,' said Snape in a tone of irritation. 'Surely even you can manage that without being told. As for your questions: yes, I did. It was on Thursday night, so you were otherwise engaged. You can come next time if you promise that you'll be on your best behaviour.'

If Lupin was going to act like an overeager child then Snape would treat him accordingly.

'What is he like?' said Lupin wistfully.

Snape gave the matter some thought. 'He's a nice little boy: bright, friendly, keen to learn. I thought perhaps you could tell him stories of his parents. I didn't speak to Lily again after she'd left Hogwarts. And James, well...' Snape didn't want Harry to hear lots of stories about what a wonderful person James Potter was, but it was probably going to happen whether he liked it or not, so there was nothing he could do but accept it.

'I can do that,' said Lupin with a look of sympathy on his face. Snape turned away; he didn't want Lupin's pity.

'I thought I'd visit Harry again on Monday night. You can come too if you're well enough by then.'

'I should be out of here by tomorrow morning,' Lupin said. He yawned and stretched.

'I should warn you that I visited Harry very late at night- actually, early in the morning- so I could be sure that the Dursleys would be asleep,' said Snape. 'Unless it's a problem for you, I'll meet you by the Hog's Head at two o'clock, after midnight.'

'Tuesday morning?' Lupin said, just to clarify. 'That's fine by me.'

Checking his wristwatch, Snape said, 'if you'll excuse me, I have other things to attend to. Goodnight, Lupin. Perhaps I'll see you in the morning.'

'Are you sure you don't want a Chocolate Frog?'

'Oh, very well,' said Snape, taking one. 'Ah, such a unique flavour!' he said, smacking his lips. 'I can really tell that it's been marinated in an old man's guilt.' He reached into the packet for the trading card that came with every Chocolate Frog.

'Väinämöinen,' he read. He looked intrigued. 'I haven't seen that one before.' He waved it at Lupin. 'Do you want it?'

Lupin smiled, faintly amused. 'No, you keep it. I'm sure one of your students-' A thought struck him from out of the blue. 'We should start a Chocolate Frog Card collection for Harry!'

'That's a task I'm sure I can leave in your capable hands, Lupin,' Snape sneered, handing him the card, turning on his heel and heading for the door.

* * *

><p><em>I still adore the Harry Potter books. I love the world that J.K. Rowling created. But there are some elements of the Harry Potter canon that are headcrushingly stupid. Some of them cause me actual, physical pain, just thinking about them.<em>

_The 'Hogwarts birth register' is a case in point. I remember from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (I can't look it up- I've lost my copy) that Hagrid said something like, 'Harry Potter not a wizard? Rubbish! He's been on the Hogwarts register since he was born!'_

_Until recently, I had always assumed that this was merely hyperbole. It made much more sense to me that it would be impossible to tell if someone was a witch/wizard or squib until they manifested some accidental magic (or failed to do so by the time they'd reached a certain age). And then I read some other fanfictions where the existence of the Hogwarts register of births was an actual plot point, so I looked it up on the harrypotter wikia. Cue brain damage._

_The notion of the Hogwarts birth register offends me for a number of reasons. Let me count the ways:_

_1. If it's possible to tell whether someone is a witch/wizard from the moment of birth, why did Neville Longbottom's Uncle Algy put him in danger to try and force some magic out of him? Wouldn't it be better just to wait to see if Neville received a Hogwarts letter or- if he was so worried about it- ask Professor Dumbledore for special permission to look at the Hogwarts register of births? (Yes, I know that there are a great many fanfics that portray Dumbledore as an evil, manipulative git, but for the purpose of this argument, I'm going to assume that he's not.) Even if the names on the Hogwarts register of births are supposed to be a secret, I'm sure Dumbledore would rather break the rules than put a child's life at risk (unless he thought that risk was necessary... hmm)._

_2. If it's possible to create an artefact that can detect magical births, why doesn't the Ministry of Magic have one? (Ugh... yes, according to the harrypotter wikia, the Ministry of Magic does not have its own means of detecting magical births. If that's true, it leads me to the alarming conclusion that, for centuries, the leaders of the British Ministry of Magic have been so utterly incompetent that they've only had a vague idea of how many people they've been supposed to be governing. Okay, they probably have Census forms and so on, but if they could have a totally reliable means of detecting magical births, why wouldn't they? Ow! My skull!) I don't know- maybe they've lost the secret of how the Hogwarts register of births was originally made- but surely the knowledge that detecting magical births is at all possible would drive other people to try to recover that secret, right?_

_3. Why don't the old, powerful, evil pure-blood families create their own versions of the Hogwarts register birth register (or create something similar)? If the technology exists, surely they'd want to use it for themselves? Wouldn't it be more efficient to identify and quietly strangle newborn squibs at birth instead of letting them live long enough to shame the family? (Yeah, it's not nice, but it's the sort of thing that some of the Blacks or the Malfoys might do.)_

_4. Hogwarts is a school. Why does it have a birth register? Is it part of a sinister plot to ensure that Hogwarts continues to maintain its stranglehold on magical education in Britain? Whatever the reason, it seems to me that whoever is in charge of Hogwarts has a really worrying amount of power (and access to far too much personal information). Oh, gosh, I'm starting to think that maybe Dolores Umbridge had a point..._

_Of course, this doesn't have much relevance to this latest chapter of 'Broken Lives'. This is just to let you know in advance (in the hope that I'll get fewer complaints later on) that I'm just going to ignore or change any details of Harry Potter canon that I think are jawdroppingly idiotic._

_'Broken Lives' takes place in an alternate universe, so... what the hell._

_I'm not going to do away with the Hogwarts register completely. _I'm sticking with my original assumption._ Let's just say that Hogwarts has a register that lists the names of young witches and wizards from the date that they first manifested accidental magic.  
><em>


	14. A Promise Kept

_I've started to bounce ideas off sarista wow (since he's one of my most enthusiastic supporters on this site and he was glad to help). I sent him a rough draft of this chapter, which he liked, but he thought that Harry Potter's vocabulary seemed "a little large for a seven year old". He was referring to the narration; the first part of this chapter is told from Harry's point of view._

_However, I have this idea that, even if the third-person narrator gets inside the characters' heads and describe their thoughts, feelings and perspectives, the narrator is nevertheless separate from the characters in the story. I disagreed with sarista wow because I don't think that the narrator should be limited to the vocabulary of whichever character is in the limelight._

_But I'm curious as to what my other readers think. Should I write 'Broken Lives' with an omniscient narrator? Or should the narrator be restricted by the characters' knowledge and experiences? (So far, I think I've been blurring the boundaries between the two different narrative modes, with the narrator skipping back and forth between different perspectives.)_

_Well, if you've got an opinion you'd like to share, I'd love to hear it._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: A Promise Kept<strong>

In the days since the wizard Severus Snape had made his nocturnal visit, Harry Potter's mind had been in a muddle. He remembered his meeting with the pale, hook-nosed man through a haze of sleepy befuddlement. At the time, Harry had not doubted the reality of Severus's magic or the truth of what he had said. He had desperately wanted to believe it. However, now that a few nights' sleep had dulled his memories, he couldn't help but wonder if he had dreamed the whole thing.

He still had the paper that his sandwich had been wrapped in. (He had eaten the sandwich bit by bit over the course of several nights, relishing every last morsel.) That was the only piece of evidence he had to show that Snape's visit hadn't been in his imagination. Sitting in the dark in his cupboard, after Aunt Petunia had locked him in for the night, he unfolded it, flattened it out and smoothed it; the soft (and increasingly grubby) square of tissue-thin paper was his sole connection to the events of that night. Harry longed to be part of the hidden world of witches and wizards that Snape had told him about; it sounded incredibly exciting. But more than anything, he yearned for a place where he couldbelong, where he wouldn't be a freak, where there would be more people like Severus.

Harry liked Severus, even if he was the kind of strange man that Aunt Petunia would have dragged her precious Dudders over to the other side of the road to avoid. Severus had an air of brooding intensity about him that Harry found somewhat disconcerting, and he had been oddly hesitant at first, almost as if he was nervous. But he had treated Harry kindly and actually seemed to care about what he wanted and he had answered Harry's questions without getting exasperated or annoyed. Harry found himself hoping and fervently wishing that Severus would come visit him again soon.

It was difficult for Harry to keep his mind on housework when his mind was fizzing with so many thrilling secrets. He felt alternately excited, fearful and confused; he couldn't conceal his turbulent emotions from his aunt and uncle for very long.

'What have _you_ got to be smiling at, boy?' Uncle Vernon bellowed, rudely shoving Harry aside on his way to the living room. 'Be careful with that Hoover! If I find you've dented the skirting board or any of the furniture I'll give you such a thrashing!'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said tonelessly, staring at the wall. He carried on vacuuming the hall carpet as if he hadn't been interrupted.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had scowled at him and said sniffily, 'well, if you've got time to daydream it's obvious that you don't have enough work to be getting on with.'

She had made Harry weed the garden, mow the lawn and water her pot plants. That was usually one of Harry's jobs, so he didn't really mind doing it again.

On Monday, Aunt Petunia had decided that two slices of stale bread would suffice for Harry's school lunch. Dudley was loaded down with sandwiches, crisps, two bars of chocolate, a bottle of orange squash, an apple, two plums, and a pork pie. Petunia then glared at Harry as if daring him to complain. Harry had grabbed his tatty old schoolbag, fled out the door and was halfway down the road before she could look twice at him; he had a good idea of when to make himself scarce.

In Maths class, later that morning, someone kept stealing Harry's pencils. Harry was fairly sure that Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss was the one behind it, but he didn't have any proof; it was just that he'd seen Piers sniggering and throwing furtive glances in his direction. He was forced to beg the teacher, Mrs. Milner, for a pen; she also gave him a mild scolding for coming to school without having anything to write with. Harry glumly realised that he'd have to scrounge some more pencil stubs from somewhere; the Dursleys would just laugh at him if he asked them for money for school supplies.

At lunchtime, Harry plucked up the courage to ask Dudley if he was going to eat that apple. He could stoically put up with humiliation if there was a slight chance that he would get what he wanted in the end. He suffered jeering and catcalling from Piers, Dennis, Gordon and Malcolm, members of Dudley's gang, and Dudley made him say "pretty please with a cherry on top". And then he'd had to dance for their amusement until Dudley grew tired of this game and threw the apple at Harry's head.

Harry caught it nimbly. 'Thanks, Dudley!' he said brightly. He eyed the plums hungrily, wondering how far he could push his luck.

Dudley was noisily chewing; he'd shoved the entire pork pie into his mouth and it was putting up something of a fight. He scowled at Harry, annoyed by his persistence. Spitefully, he dropped the plums on the floor and crushed them underfoot. A scornful smirk spread across his face as he continued to chew.

'Er, I'll just be off now,' said Harry, backing away. Malcolm and Gordon were looming over him threateningly. 'Bye!'

He dashed off before they could catch him, still clutching his prize, mocking laughter ringing in his ears. He thought he heard Piers' derisive voice saying, 'what a weirdo!'

It wouldn't be long before Dudley's gang came looking for him again; 'Harry-hunting' was one of their favourite pastimes. He tried to find a place where he could hide and eat his lunch in peace. He was unsuccessful.

He had a few new bruises by the time he limped back into the classroom that afternoon. Sitting in his usual place, off by himself, he was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Once again he had to borrow a pen. Mrs. Milner frowned when she saw his bruises, but Harry often came back after lunchtime looking like he'd been beaten up; she put it down to rough, boisterous play. It wasn't unusual.

The class of seven and eight year olds had a History lesson and then English. In their History lesson they watched a video about the Ancient Egyptians and then they had to fill in a worksheet. Dudley and his friends were told off for messing about and making too much noise. Harry worked quietly and industriously by himself.

As one of the set tasks for their English lesson, Mrs. Milner wrote a list of words on the blackboard and told her students that they had to put each of those words into a sentence.

For example, one of the words was 'bicycle'. Harry wrote, 'I wish I had a bicycle.' However, a few of the words required a little more thought on how to put them into a sentence that was grammatically correct; one of the words was 'walkers'.

After some deliberation, Harry wrote, 'Walkers roam the hills and woods.' That got him thinking. He thought that he would like to have the opportunity to experience the great outdoors for himself. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to think that nature was somehow objectionable; they had an aversion to anything that wasn't neat, tidy and sanitised. And Dudley didn't do any exercise unless it involved punching someone. But Harry found the idea of 'roaming the hills and woods' quite attractive. He hoped he would have the chance someday.

Mrs. Milner was exasperated with Dudley and his gang because they'd all written some variation of 'I like Walkers crisps' instead of putting any effort into the task, but she smiled at Harry for what he'd written and she made him read it out in front of the class. At that moment, Harry wished he could sink into the floor and never be seen again. Dudley's sneer was a promise of dire retribution later on.

When the lesson was almost at an end, Harry gave the pen back to Mrs. Milner and thanked her for letting him borrow it.

Harry was one of the first to rush off out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang to signal the end of the school day. He decided to take the long way home; he hoped that he could avoid Dudley's game when they attempted to ambush him. Wasting as much time as he could, taking the most circuitous route he knew, it was well over an hour before he got back to 4, Privet Drive. By then, Dudley and his gang must have gotten bored and wandered off to find other amusements; he didn't see them anywhere.

'And where have you been?' Aunt Petunia snarled, throwing open the front door when she saw him walking up to the house. Harry mumbled a few excuses but she wasn't interested in hearing anything he had to say. She dragged him inside and put him to work cleaning the bathrooms, upstairs and downstairs. Then (when he'd washed his hands thoroughly) Harry had to go outside and take down the washing from the line. After that... well, Petunia always had plenty of chores with which to keep Harry busy.

Dudley came home wearing a smugly pleased expression on his face. Harry recognised that look; it meant that Dudley had been terrorising someone smaller and weaker than himself. All of the younger kids living in Privet Drive and the surrounding neighbourhoods were terribly afraid of Dudley Dursley.

As soon as Dudley entered the house he started whinging to his mother, saying that Harry had been "showing off" in class and that he had "stolen" an apple from Dudley's lunchbox. Harry tried to protest but it was no use. He was banished to his cupboard as punishment.

Harry sat in the darkness for what seemed like hours, crying with hunger. Eventually, Aunt Petunia must have heard his sobs. She relented; she let him out of the cupboard, told him to go sit down in the kitchen and gave him a plate of leftovers to eat.

'I hope you've learned your lesson, young man,' she said.

Harry thought, 'what lesson?' But he didn't say that out loud. He wouldn't give Aunt Petunia any more excuses to punish him if he could help it. He just nodded and tried to look like he was sorry.

Ever since he could remember, he had known that Dudley could get him into trouble whenever he wanted. His aunt and uncle would invariably take Dudley's side. They had always been firmly convinced of Harry's guilt in spite of any evidence to the contrary. Even though Harry still protested his innocence, these days it was a perfunctory effort; he didn't expect to be treated fairly.

The Dursleys believed that harsh measures were needed to make sure that Harry didn't grow up to be a worthless layabout just like his father. Or so they said.

Severus had told Harry that his father, James Potter, had been a rich man, a sports star and Head Boy at Hogwarts School. Harry's heart had swelled with pride and happiness when he'd heard that. He had seen Severus struggling to contain his anger when Harry had told him what the Dursleys had said; Severus had said that the Dursleys had lied to Harry about a lot of things. And yet, Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the story than Severus had told him; he had noticed that Severus grew very uneasy when he was talking about Harry's father. He couldn't think why that should be.

There was too much that he didn't know. There were so many questions he wanted to ask Severus when he came back. Harry was looking forward to it with feverish eagerness.

Would Severus visit again soon? Would it be any night this week? Harry had no idea. He could only hope.

After Harry had finished eating, and he'd done the washing up and he'd been to the toilet and completed a few other important tasks, Aunt Petunia took him back to his cupboard and locked him in for the night. He settled down and tried to get some sleep. He could hear angry confrontational voices, screeching and shouting, somewhere close by; that sounded like one of Aunt Petunia's favourite soap operas. Dudley was stomping up and down the stairs and Uncle Vernon was loudly bemoaning a hard day at work. Even if it hadn't been for these disturbances, Harry would still have been unable to rest; he was agitated and discontented and his head had begun to ache. He felt like his mind was brimming over with all the questions, doubts and worries that were clamouring for his attention.

Sleep was a long time in coming, that night.

* * *

><p>Outside the Hog's Head Inn, Severus Snape and Remus Lupin stood in silence for a moment. It was late at night. They were both wrapped up warm against the cold. They had greeted one another in terse whispers and now they were at a loss for something else to say. The tension was almost palpable. Lupin had his wand out and had cast <em>Lumos<em>, shining a bright light through the murk. Snape had cast _Oculi Felis. _At first, Lupin had been unnerved to see Snape with strangely large orange eyes that seemed to glow as they reflected the light from his wand.

'What did you do to your eyes?' he asked at last, when his curiosity had grown too much to bear.

Snape had been caught in a reverie. He blinked. 'What?' he said. 'Oh. It's the Cat's Eyes Charm. With it I can see in the dark.'

'Handy for sneaking about unnoticed,' said Lupin thoughtfully.

'It has been,' Snape nodded. He hesitated for a moment. He remembered how angry he had been when, at school, he had invented several new spells that other people had taken for their own use without asking his permission first. It was as if they had stolen them from him. For several months, _Levicorpus_ had been wildly popular among the students at Hogwarts who had used it to prank their friends or torment their enemies. Hoisting people into the air by their ankles was a joke that had worn thin extremely quickly, but there had been plenty of would-be pranksters who had suffered from a woeful lack of imagination.

Snape bitterly remembered the times that Potter and his lackeys had used his own spells against him. For that reason, he felt reluctant to show Lupin the Cat's Eyes Charm. And yet, the Cat's Eyes Charm was not one of his inventions; he had found it in an old book somewhere. He knew he'd be foolish to feel possessive about something that had never belonged to him. So what did it matter if he showed Lupin how to do it? Their mission of stealth would have a better chance of success if Lupin could see where he was going without needing to carry a visible source of light with him. (The risk that someone might look outside in the middle of the night and see the light from Lupin's _Lumos_ spell was a small one, but Snape refused to take unnecessary risks that could jeopardise this mission. He had automatically slipped back into his old role as a spy; he would eliminate any risk of getting caught if he could.)

'The incantation is _Oculi Felis_,' he said. 'Press the tip of your wand against your brow, just above the nose- yes, that's it.'

'_Oculi Felis_,' said Lupin, following Snape's directions. The spell wasn't difficult to perform; Lupin managed it on the first try. His eyes grew huge and round and turned a beautiful shade of aquamarine blue, the pupils narrowed to slits.

He doused the light from his wand and glanced around. It was a dark night and the sky was cloudy, but he could see clearly and crisply for a fair distance through the gloom; his night vision was greatly enhanced. As always, Hogsmeade Village looked pretty as a picture, but tonight that picture seemed dreary and faded; it needed the daytime bustle of activity to bring it to life. Or perhaps the Cat's Eyes Charm was warping his perception. Aesthetic considerations aside, he could see the value of the spell; he found himself imagining how useful it could have been in some of the night battles during the war against the Death Eaters.

'Alright,' said Lupin, 'I'm impressed.'

Snape smiled thinly. 'I live for your approval, Lupin,' he sneered. 'Are you done? Can we stop wasting time?'

'By all means,' Lupin said. He coughed; it was a dry, hacking cough. 'I'll follow your lead, shall I? You've broken into 4, Privet Drive before; I bow to your superior expertise.'

Snape stared sharply at Lupin for a few seconds. The tone of Lupin's voice was mild and the expression on his face was one of bland composure, but Snape couldn't imagine that he wasn't being sarcastic. Lupin was almost always polite and respectful even when others greeted him with rudeness and hostility; he didn't stoop to their level. Snape felt irritated and a little unsettled by it; he was used to defiance, aggression and contempt from those students who weren't terrified of him (and that was getting tiresomely common of late- since Snape had been put on probation there had been an increasing number of students who seemed to think that the legendarily ferocious black bat of the dungeons was now too feeble and toothless to keep them from wreaking havoc in his lessons).

He had rarely dealt with those who didn't seem to mind being insulted. Lupin reacted with blithe lack of concern; it was like water rolling off a duck's back. Snape was making some effort to be civil (or to hold back the worst of his resentment and spite, at least) but he wasn't trying to be friendly. He had made it clear that their partnership was merely a temporary arrangement. He was rude and abrasive, but Lupin was his usual infuriatingly amiable self. And yet Snape couldn't shake the suspicion that Lupin was subtly mocking him, that his words were meant derisively and that behind his good-natured mask Lupin felt only contempt for him.

It really made no difference, so long as they got the job done.

Anyway, Snape would know the truth soon enough; Lupin had consented to Snape's use of Legilimency to examine the Potters' will and a few other things that he'd taken the trouble to memorise. For now, Lupin was a mystery that he couldn't begin to fathom.

There was an uncomfortable silence while Lupin waited patiently for Snape to say something. At long last, Snape opened his mouth to speak in a conspiratorial whisper: 'we will Apparate to Privet Drive, disillusion ourselves, then head to Number Four. I will unlock the door and disable the burglar alarm. You will keep watch. Inside, I will cast soundproofing charms so that no noise we make will reach the Dursleys and I will set a ward to warn us of anyone coming downstairs. Then we will open the door to the cupboard under the stairs and wake Harry.'

'No questions so far,' said Lupin. If he was leery of the fact that Snape had given him very little to do with this break-in he disguised it well.

'I'll introduce you to Harry. I-' Snape stopped dead before a half-formed thought could escape through his mouth. 'Ah. I'll have to call you Remus. And you should call me Severus.'

'Wow. First name terms!' said Lupin cheerfully. 'May I ask what I've done to deserve this rare honour?'

Snape glowered at him. 'I asked Harry to call me Severus and I expect you'll want him to call you Uncle Remus. Harry is sure to notice if we call each other by our last names. He is unusually perceptive for a boy of his age.' Here, Snape's tone was tinged with obscure pride. 'I'd rather not have to explain our former enmity to him on this occasion.'

'Yes, that sounds reasonable, _Severus_,' said Lupin, nodding. 'Count me in.'

'I've brought Harry some food: a vegetable lasagne I asked the Hogwarts House Elves to make for him,' said Snape. He looked somewhat defensive as he added, 'the Dursleys don't feed him well enough. I want to be sure he eats properly.'

Lupin smiled. 'I'll give him the rest of my Chocolate Frogs. I'm sure he'll appreciate them more than I would.'

'How eminently practical of you, _Remus_,' said Snape. His voice wasn't dripping with scorn as it might have been; he was torn between the temptation to deride Lupin for his parsimony and sympathy with the werewolf's dire financial circumstances. Besides, it was a gift that Harry would surely be pleased with; Snape couldn't fault Lupin for that.

'What shall we talk to Harry about? I assume you've told him quite a bit about the wizarding world already?'

'Let me do the talking to start with,' said Snape. 'I'm sure you'll interject if you think you've anything remotely relevant to say. Before long, I expect Harry will be asking you questions and wanting to know more about you. Tell him...' A flicker of a frown crossed his face and he hesitated. 'I'll leave you two alone for a while and you can talk to him about James.'

Lupin opened his mouth, ready to ask a question, but he shut it again after a moment. 'And what will you be doing while I'm telling Harry stories of his father?' he asked. His tone was mild as before but his choice of words had to be deliberately provocative.

'I'm going upstairs,' said Snape. 'I want a word with the Dursleys.'

'A word?' said Lupin, frowning. '_Crucio, _perhaps?'

A flush of anger brought colour to Snape's pale cheeks. 'I'm not going to hurt them,' he said. 'I'll obliviate them afterwards. I just want the answers to a few questions.'

Lupin's frown turned to a rather unpleasant smile. He was about to say the he was "disappointed" and that it was "a shame". But he checked himself in time. There were some things so unpleasant and cruel that they really shouldn't be joked about.

* * *

><p>The cupboard door opened. With bated breath, Lupin looked to catch a glimpse of Harry curled up in his tattered blankets. The little boy stirred, blearily, reaching for his glasses. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and sat up.<p>

'Severus?' he said, scarcely daring to believe it. 'Severus! You came back!'

'Yes, Harry,' said Snape, crouching down. 'I keep my promises.'

Harry threw off his blankets, climbed to his feet and then, without warning, he threw himself at Snape, hugging him fiercely. Snape was overbalanced; he toppled over.

'Sorry! I'm sorry!' said Harry anxiously. He offered his puny hand as if he was strong enough to help Snape get back up.

'Thank you, Harry,' said Snape. He took Harry's hand, playing along; he got up, huffing and wheezing as if it was a tremendous exertion.

Lupin laughed merrily. He couldn't contain his mirth.

All of a sudden, Harry was caught in the grip of fear. He backed away from Lupin, cowering, trying to squeeze himself into the darkest recesses of his cupboard. His terror died down somewhat when he saw that Lupin wasn't one of his relatives who had come downstairs in the middle of the night. But he was still wary of this new interloper. He didn't stop cowering in the corner.

'Harry, allow me to introduce Remus Lupin,' said Snape. 'He was a friend of your father's.'

'Please call me Remus,' said Lupin.

Harry gave Lupin a look of bright curiosity. He saw the light shining from the wand in Lupin's hand. He saw that Lupin looked haggard and ill, he was wearing old clothes that nevertheless looked clean and well-cared-for, and he was smiling warmly.

'Hello,' he said a little shyly. He took a few tentative steps forward and into the light. 'It's nice to meet you.' He held out his hand.

'I've looked forward to meeting you for a long time, Harry,' said Lupin gravely, shaking his hand. 'You look so much like-' He faltered, giving Snape a sidelong glance. '-like your parents, both of them.'

Harry beamed as if he'd been given the compliment of a lifetime. Then, something much more important grabbed his attention. He turned to Snape, looking hopeful.

'Did you bring food?' he said excitedly.

'Generally it's considered impolite to ask your guests whether they have gifts for you,' Snape drawled. 'However-' He reached into his pocket and retrieved what looked like an earthenware container with a cover over the top; it was so tiny that it might have fit a doll's house. Snape tapped it once with his wand and it returned to its full size (about as large as a dinner plate). He slipped his wand into his pocket and took hold of the container in both hands.

'Lasagne,' he said, removing the lid. 'For you, Harry. Shall we go and sit down in the kitchen?'

* * *

><p><em>Note: Yes, this is a shorter chapter than usual. In fact, it might be the shortest so far. I wanted to get things moving again.<em>


	15. The Boy Who Lived

_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't own it. I wish I did. This is a work of fanfiction. I make no money from this._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: The Boy Who Lived<strong>

A few moments later, Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, forcing himself to eat his lasagne slowly and savour the taste. It was delicious, well worth waiting for. He ate continuously; one mouthful was very quickly followed by the next; it was all he could do to restrain himself from gobbling it down.

Snape noticed that Harry's glasses had been snapped once again. There was a new lump of sellotape binding together the two broken ends. Snape sighed wearily. His nostrils flared.

'Give me those glasses,' he said, 'I'll repair them for you.'

Harry looked down at his bowl ashamedly. 'You don't have to,' he said.

'It's no trouble.'

A trifle reluctantly, Harry handed over his glasses.

'_Reparo_,' said Snape. A tap of his wand and then the glasses were in one piece. He handed them back to Harry.

'Thank you, Severus,' he said with a sunny smile.

'Your cousin has been bullying you again,' said Snape. His pale lips thinned to the point of invisibility.

Harry took a mouthful of lasagne and didn't say anything. He wondered how much Snape knew. When they'd first met, Snape had known about the Dursleys and how they treated Harry. None of the other adults seemed to notice the Dudley was a fat bully and that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon made Harry dress in tatty old clothes and sleep in a cupboard; as far most people were concerned, the Dursleys were pillars of the community and could do no wrong. But Snape had known better.

How had he known? Did he have some magical means of spying on Harry? Had he somehow read Harry's mind? Could he see into the future? Harry was excited to think of some of the amazing things that might be possible with magic. Perhaps, after he'd eaten, Snape might show him a few more spells?

'You shouldn't have to put up with that,' said Snape. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he grimaced and kept his mouth firmly shut.

Harry shrugged. It was a very eloquent shrug. In that simple movement Snape and Lupin could see that Harry was utterly resigned to his fate. No one wanted him. The Dursleys had only taken him into their home on sufferance. They half-starved him, belittled him and punished him for trivial offenses. And they encouraged their son to torment him as well. For most of his life, as far back as he could remember, they had treated him as badly or worse and he had no hope that things might improve in the near future. He just had to put up with it.

Lupin spoke for the first time. Until then, he had been so quiet that Harry had almost forgotten his being there.

'Your glasses will get broken again, won't they?' he said, leaning forward.

Harry nodded gloomily.

'Well, maybe we can do something about that?' said Lupin. He gave Snape a sidelong glance. 'I have an idea. I'll cast two spells on Harry's glasses: a Notice-Me-Not Charm so that other people will ignore them and a Find-Me Charm so that Harry can't lose them.' He smiled at Harry. 'Would that solve the problem, do you think?'

'Maybe,' said Snape.

'Are you a wizard too...?' said Harry, faltering as he struggled to remember Lupin's name. But then he had it: 'Remus.'

'Yes, I'm a wizard, just like you,' said Lupin.

Snape turned to stare at the wall so that they wouldn't see his sneer. He muttered something unpleasant under his breath.

Eagerly, Harry made to hand over his glasses to Lupin, but Snape stopped him. 'Perhaps later,' he said. 'For now, I'd like to be able to look you in the eye when I'm talking to you.'

There was silence for a few moments. Harry ate his lasagne, chewing happily. Snape opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated; he couldn't think of how to smoothly move on to more pleasant topics of conversation. Lupin was looking thoughtful.

'How has your day been, Harry?' he asked.

Snape winced. He had wanted to avoid talking about Harry's miserable home life and his troubles at school until he was sure that he was in a position to do something about it. Evidently, the topic was one that caused Harry some discomfort; he had set down his knife and fork, averted his gaze, and said, in a murmur, that his day had been 'fine'.

But Lupin was not easily dissuaded. 'How was school?'

'Um...'

Harry's face crumpled; it was a picture of abject dejection. He hunched his shoulders, squirmed in his seat and tried to scrape a hand across his eyes without anyone noticing. He mumbled something incoherent.

'Leave him alone, Remus,' said Snape. He didn't think he could bear to see Harry getting upset. He might not be able to resist the urge to promise him that everything was going to be alright and that he wouldn't have to stay with the Dursleys for much longer; he didn't want to get Harry's hopes up too soon.

Lupin looked at him shrewdly. 'We need to know,' he said. 'If we don't, how can we hope to make things better?'

He turned to address Harry, speaking in a soothing, gentle tone: 'Harry, please tell us what happened. We'd like to help.'

'O-okay,' said Harry timorously. He took several deep breaths, struggling to speak. 'Well... this morning...'

There followed a lengthy recital of the woes, humiliations and injustices that Harry had suffered over the course of the past day. It was as if a damn had burst; Harry was hesitant at first, but soon all the pain, shame and indignation came spilling out. A couple of times he looked from Snape to Lupin, expecting them to scoff or laugh at him, but they made for a sympathetic audience. Emboldened, Harry did not hold back. Never before had he been allowed the luxury of complaining about anything.

He felt hot tears welling up behind his eyes. He was sniffling. As far as he could remember, no one had ever cared enough to ask him how his day had been; such a simple thing, but it meant a lot to him; he was quite overcome with emotion. He stopped talking and huddled in his seat, staring down at the floor, trying to blink away the tears. He didn't want either of his new friends to think he was a whiny crybaby. But it was probably too late for that.

Snape was seething. Righteous anger had set his blood boiling. His protective instincts had long since atrophied, but Harry's story provided them with a painful workout. He wanted to find and punish everyone who had tormented Harry. First, he'd go upstairs and subject the Dursleys to a bloody and agonizing vengeance. Then he'd...

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Maybe if Dumbledore and Lupin hadn't been so heavily involved in this situation Snape would have felt free to indulge his darker impulses. But, as they were, Snape's actions were restricted. He couldn't do anything too heinous, not while they were watching him; he had no desire to join many of his former comrades in the cells of Azkaban. If he was to take revenge for Harry's sake, it would have to be subtle (probably psychological) and entirely legal.

For now, Snape's chief concern was with Harry's wellbeing. Awkwardly, Snape reached out and patted Harry on the shoulder as if to say 'there, there'. He had intended this as a consoling gesture, so he was surprised when Harry let out a loud sob, tears streaming down his face. He looked to Lupin for help.

Lupin rushed to the toilet to get some tissue. 'Here, blow your nose,' he said, handing it to Harry who obediently took it and honked his nose into it a couple of times.

When that was done, Lupin had an interesting method of disposing of the sodden wads of tissue. He was resolved to leave no evidence behind for Aunt Petunia to find; he took out his wand and _vanished_ them. Harry watched, wide-eyed, enthralled by this display; his sorrows were forgotten.

'How did you do that?' said Harry.

'You'll learn the Vanishing Spell during your fifth year at Hogwarts,' said Lupin. 'It's a form of Transfiguration- a difficult spell- you'll start off with something easier. Keep practising and I'm sure you'll manage it in no time.' He glanced at Snape questioningly.

'Yes, I've told Harry about Hogwarts- and Transfiguration,' said Snape, correctly divining the reason for Lupin's questioning look. He sat back to watch and see how well Lupin took charge of the conversation; would he continue to hold Harry's attention or would Harry be so bored that he'd start sobbing again?

'Alright,' said Lupin. He frowned, looking momentarily nonplussed. 'Would you like to learn some magic, Harry?'

Yes, please!' said Harry excitedly.

'Take my wand, Harry,' said Lupin, offering him the handle. He thought about telling Harry to be careful with it but he decided there was no need; Harry was holding his wand as if it was a rare and fragile treasure. 'Give it a wave, like this.'

Harry swished the wand through the air like Lupin had showed him; it left a trail of a few brightly coloured sparks. He gasped. 'Wow...'

Lupin looked amused. He thought it was endearing that Harry was so easy to please. 'As a wizard, you have a natural talent for manipulating magic,' he said, 'but without a wand you'd find it exceedingly difficult. You've used accidental magic before, when you were upset or angry or in danger?'

Harry nodded. He didn't expound upon the details.

'Accidental magic tends to be very powerful. Quite by accident, some children have done things that fully-grown wizards would struggle to do. But that's not the sort of thing you can rely on; it only happens in the most extraordinary circumstances. I imagine that you want magic you can control? Well, that's what spells are for; say the right words, wave a magic wand and you can do pretty much anything you want.'

'It's not that simple,' said Snape irritably.

'There's more to it than that,' Lupin admitted. 'But you get the idea. A wand is a very useful- some would say _vital_- tool for casting spells. By channelling magic through a wand, you can make your spells more powerful with less of an effort. It takes a great deal of skill and experience to be able to cast spells without the aid of a wand. In fact, without their wands, most witches and wizards would be completely helpless.

'According to wizarding law, you're not allowed to own a wand until you're eleven years old. But there's no law says you can't borrow someone else's. My wand isn't a perfect match for you, Harry, but it'll do for now.'

'Children from wizarding families often learn a few spells before they come to Hogwarts,' Snape confirmed. 'They practice with their parents' wands, usually.'

'Yes,' said Lupin, shooting a glance at Snape. 'I remember, during Severus's first year at school, it was rumoured that he knew more-' He decided that he didn't want to have to explain to Harry what jinxes and curses were; it would only embarrass Snape and make him more difficult to deal with. '-_spells_ than many of the seventh years.'

'Really?' said Harry, greatly impressed. Once again, Snape had risen in his estimation.

Snape shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Remus.'

A fleeting smile crept over Lupin's lips, but otherwise he gave no answer. He went back to his lecture.

'I'm going to teach you one of the simplest spells I know. The incantation is _Lumos_. It will make a bright light shine at the end of your wand. Go ahead, try it.'

'_Lumos_,' said Harry. Nothing happened. He tried it again, to no avail.

'There's a wand movement that may help you,' said Lupin. He tactfully refrained from mentioning that _Lumos_ was such a simple spell that most young witches and wizards never bothered to learn the correct wand movement; it was an aid they could do without. 'It's just a little flick of the wrist. Let me show you.'

He took back his wand and demonstrated. Harry watched keenly, his brow furrowed in an expression of intense concentration.

'Have another go, Harry,' he said, giving him the wand.

'_Lumos_,' said Harry. He imitated Lupin's pronunciation of the unfamiliar word and made a flicking motion with his wand, just like Lupin had showed him. The end of the wand lit up with a faint glow.

'I did it!' said Harry. 'Look!'

'Well done,' said Lupin encouragingly. 'And now you have to put it out. The incantation is _Nox_.'

It was a very faint light. Harry managed to douse it without much effort.

'I can see that you're both busy,' said Snape, getting up and walking over to the door. 'Carry on. I've been meaning to pay the Dursleys a visit.'

'Be careful,' Harry whispered. He looked petrified.

'Don't worry,' said Snape, rolling his eyes. 'I'll be fine.' He shut the door behind him and made for the stairs.

Harry wasn't at all reassured. He was afraid of how his aunt and uncle would react to having a wizard appear in their bedroom in the middle of the night. They wouldn't dare antagonize Snape, not if there was a chance that he might turn them into frogs, so they would work out their frustrations by picking on a softer target. Harry felt dreadful anxiety; it as if his heart was sinking to the pit of his stomach.

'What's the matter, Harry?' said Lupin.

'Nothing,' said Harry in a small voice. He was playing with Lupin's wand, twiddling it between his fingers.

Lupin looked at him for a moment, considering. 'You've no need to fret,' he said. 'Severus wouldn't do anything to put you in danger.'

Harry looked somewhat mollified. He stopped fidgeting.

'Would you like to try the _Lumos_ spell again, Harry?'

'_Lumos_,' said Harry. The light was a little brighter this time. _'Nox.'_ The light went out.

Harry had to practice both spells a dozen more times before Lupin was satisfied. 'Very good,' he said, putting his wand back in his pocket. 'I expect you're tired after all that?'

'Um...' Harry yawned, sleepily. 'Yeah.'

'Well, I think that's enough for one day,' said Lupin. He looked at Harry's bowl, still half-full. 'Aren't you going to eat the rest of your lasagne?'

'It was such a lot,' said Harry, knowing that he wouldn't be able to finish it. It was too much for him. 'You can have the rest if you like.' Compared with most of the adults he knew, Lupin was rather thin and unhealthy-looking; Harry didn't mind sharing with him.

Lupin was a little taken aback by Harry's generosity. 'Oh, I couldn't, Harry,' he said, shaking his head. 'Severus brought that for you. He wanted you to have it.'

'And I want you to have it, if you're hungry,' said Harry with a shrug.

There was a moment's pause. 'Alright,' said Lupin, thinking about it. 'I'll warm it up. We'll have half each. Does that sound good to you, Harry?'

'Yeah.'

Lupin got up, went to the kitchen cabinet to find two plates, and then he put the lasagne in the microwave and set it to reheat for about a minute. At the kitchen sink, he warmed the plates under the hot tap. While he was doing that, he said to Harry, 'your father was one of my best friends at school. Have you heard much about him?'

'No,' said Harry. 'The Dursleys told me he was a wastrel. Severus told me he was a rich man and... er, what's that game that wizards play? On flying broomsticks?'

'Quidditch?'

'That's it,' said Harry. 'Severus said that my dad was a Quidditch player.'

Lupin frowned. He was well aware of how bitterly Snape had hated James Potter. But it didn't sound as though Snape had taken the opportunity to badmouth James in front of Harry; it sounded as though Snape had stuck to the facts.

The microwave beeped. Lupin reached for a pair of oven gloves so he could handle the bowl of piping-hot lasagne. He neatly divided up the lasagne into two equal halves and placed each half on a warm plate. He handed one plate to Harry and took the other for himself. He was about to sit down, but then he realised he hadn't got a fork. He went to get one out of the cutlery drawer.

Harry was happy with the reduced size of his portion. It made for a much less daunting prospect than the pile of food that he'd had before. Anyway, he'd had time to work up an appetite, casting those _Lumos_ spells. He had never used magic like that before; it had taken a lot of effort and energy from him; he felt quite worn out.

'Yes, James was a Quidditch player,' said Lupin, coming back to the table, 'one of the best I've ever seen. He played Chaser. Do you know much about Quidditch, Harry?'

For the next fifteen or so, they sat and ate. In between mouthfuls, Lupin talked about Quidditch. He talked about the different players and their roles on the pitch: the Chasers, the Beaters, the Keeper and the Seeker. He explained the different balls and what they were for: the Quaffles, the Golden Snitch and the Bludgers. He told stories of some of the Quidditch matches he'd seen; many of these stories featured James Potter as the boy whose sporting prowess brought the Gryffindor Quidditch team to victory time and again.

Long before Lupin had finished, Harry's plate was polished clean. He sat and listened, smiling slightly.

'-and you used to ride a toy broomstick,' said Lupin, chuckling at the memory. 'It didn't go fast, and it wouldn't take you higher than a foot above the ground, but it was your favourite toy. You would have ridden it everywhere if your mum had let you.'

He took a mouthful of lasagne. At this point, he realised he'd fallen behind; he stopped talking for a few moments until he was done eating.

'I wish I knew what my parents looked like,' said Harry wistfully. 'Do you have any photographs?'

'A few,' said Lupin. 'I'll bring them with me next time. Actually...' He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, garishly coloured box. 'That reminds me; I brought you a gift, Harry.' He handed it over.

Inquisitively, Harry pulled open the lid of the box and peered at the contents.

'Those are Chocolate Frogs, Harry,' said Lupin. 'I don't suppose you've ever had them before.'

'Thank you, Remus,' said Harry, beaming at him. 'It's very nice of you.' He examined the box carefully. 'What does it mean, "seventy percent finest Croakoa"?'

'Oh, that's just a silly pun,' said Lupin dismissively, 'a marketing gimmick.'

Harry's face was clouded with a confused frown. 'But why...?'

'Frogs _croak_' said Lupin, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep from yawning. 'Chocolate is made from _cocoa_. In the tagline, they combined the two words. It's a joke, sort of.'

'It's not funny,' said Harry dubiously.

'No, it's not,' Lupin agreed.

'_Why_...?' Harry's voice gradually trailed away to nothing. There was a question he'd been meaning to ask, but he decided that it probably wasn't worth the effort. Instead, he focussed his mind on more important concerns: 'What do they taste like?' he asked.

'Try one and find out,' said Lupin with a smirk.

Harry stared down at his Chocolate Frogs, possessively. 'I'd prefer to save them 'til later,' he said. He didn't often get treats like these, so he wanted to appreciate them for as long as possible.

'If you like,' said Lupin. 'Just be sure to keep them hidden. You wouldn't want the Dursleys to find them, would you?'

Of course not, Harry thought. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would punish him for stealing sweets (Harry certainly wasn't about to tell them that someone had sneaked into the house and _given_ him the sweets). Or Dudley would devour the whole lot in a few bites.

'I could shrink the box a little more,' said Lupin. 'It would make it easier for you to hide.'

'Yes, please,' said Harry. He took one of the little packaged frogs and gave the box to Lupin. 'I think I will have one now,' he decided, tearing open the package. He popped the Chocolate Frog into his mouth and examined the trading card that had come with it.

'With every Chocolate Frog, there's a card with a picture of a famous wizard and information on the back,' said Lupin. He put down the (now slightly smaller) box on the table. 'They're highly collectable.'

'Mmm,' said Harry, enjoying the delightful taste of the Chocolate Frog melting in his mouth.

'Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim,' said Lupin, reading from the card. 'Hmm.'

Harry was fascinated with the moving image of the man on the card; it was as if an old-fashioned oil painting had come to life. Agrippa was a serious-looking man with a prominent nose and a full beard.

'In the wizarding world, most photographs and paintings can move,' said Lupin.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He imagined what it would be like to see a wizarding photograph of his parents. It would be as if they were still alive; he would see them smiling or (as was the case with Agrippa) blinking owlishly at him.

'Remus,' he said hesitantly, 'I... I have a question to ask... if you don't mind.'

'Ask me anything,' said Lupin. 'I don't mind.'

'H-how did my parents die?' Harry asked.

Lupin paled. He sighed deeply.

'The Dursleys told me they died in a car crash,' said Harry hurriedly; he wanted the worst to be over with quickly.

'The very idea!' said Lupin sharply. His face twisted into a snarl. 'Absurd!'

'So... it's not true, then?'

Lupin's expression became fixed. He enunciated each word clearly and carefully; he was fighting for control of himself. 'Lily and James did not die in a car crash. They-'

He halted. He looked pained and weary. 'Harry,' he said quietly. 'You deserve to know how your parents died. I will tell you. All I ask is that we wait for Severus. It's important. He should be part of this discussion.'

'Okay,' said Harry, tingling with nervous anticipation. He knew that he wouldn't like what he was about to hear- he suspected that it would be _horrible_- but he felt some satisfaction in knowing that at last he would know the truth.

'Where is Severus?' Lupin wondered. 'What's taking him so long?'

* * *

><p>Before he went up the stairs, Snape had disabled his ward; he wouldn't need it for the time being. '<em>Oculi Felis<em>,' he said. He wouldn't turn any of the lights on upstairs so it would be useful to see in the dark.

On the landing, he opened each of the doors in turn, just a little way, so he could take a peek. There was a toilet, a guest bedroom and a small bedroom that seemed to have been used as a storeroom; it was littered with old toys and games, many of which had been broken, all of which were covered with a fine layer of dust. So, the Dursleys had more than enough space that they could have given Harry a room of his own. That they forced him to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs was an act of deliberate cruelty.

Snape's lip curled. He shook his head disgustedly. There would be a reckoning, he swore; sooner or later, the Dursleys would be made to pay for what they had done.

There were two doors left. He opened one of the doors slowly, gingerly. In that room, he saw a fat lump lying on the bed, snoring like a hog; that must be Dudley Dursley. Strewn carelessly on the floor there were piles of dirty clothes, toys and sweets. Snape caught sight of a few pens and pencils lying amidst the clutter.

Skulking into the room, as quietly as he could, Snape picked up a pen and one of the pencils. There was no doubt in his mind: Harry should have them. It was ridiculous that he had to go to school without something to write with. If Dudley even noticed the loss of one pen and one pencil (Snape doubted that he would; things were bound to go missing in this disordered mess) then his parents would buy him as many replacements as he wanted.

As he took a step back towards the door, Snape heard something crunch underfoot. He winced and looked down to see what it was. Someone had spilled a bag of crisps on the floor and Snape had just trodden some of them into the carpet. Dudley made a sound like a gurgling snort and rolled over. Snape froze, but he needn't have worried. Dudley was still snoring, sleeping peacefully, like a particularly fat and ugly baby.

Snape left the room, putting his new acquisitions into his pocket. He shut the door behind him. After some deliberation, he set up a few new soundproofing charms so that Dudley definitely wouldn't hear what was going on elsewhere in the house.

He had deliberately left the door to Petunia and Vernon Dursley's bedroom until last. His mouth dry, Snape pushed open the door and stepped inside.

On the double bed, Vernon was lying on his side; Snape was reminded of a beached whale. Petunia had her arms folded, hugging herself. If she snored, Snape couldn't hear it; Vernon was making too much noise. He snored like a thunderstorm, even worse than his son.

Snape glanced around the room, but he wasn't there to admire the decor. He had been looking forward to this for a while. He drew his wand out of his pocket.

'_Petrificus Totalus_,' he said, pointing his wand at Vernon. _'Silencio.'_

The effect was immediate: Vernon's arms and legs snapped together and his snores could no longer be heard. For a moment, the room was quiet, blissfully so.

'_Aguamenti,_' said Snape. A jet of cold water shot from his wand, hitting Petunia. Soaking wet, she screamed shrilly and suddenly sat up in bed, looking wildly around the room with eyes befuddled by sleep.

'Wha-' she spluttered.

With a nonverbal _Lumos_ spell, Snape shone a faint light from the end of his wand, just enough so that Petunia could see him. She let out a terrified squeak and tried to shake her husband awake, crying, 'Vernon! Vernon!'

'Petunia Dursley,' said Snape coldly, 'I'm here to ask you a few questions.'

'Who are you?' said Petunia. 'What have you done to Vernon?' She stared at him fearfully. She didn't seem to recognise him as the little boy she had once known, Lily's friend. 'What... what happened to your eyes?'

'Didn't you hear what I just said?' Snape snapped. 'I said that _I_ would be asking _you_ some questions. Are you deaf as well as being cruel and stupid?'

'You're one of those wizards,' Petunia sneered. 'Why can't you weirdos just leave us alone?'

'Believe me, I would have been happier if I'd never learned of your existence,' Snape spat. 'My concern is for the child who was entrusted to your care. What do you have to say for yourself, Petunia? How can you justify what you've done to Harry?'

'We've looked after him,' said Petunia defiantly. 'When he was just a baby, do you think he would have survived if we hadn't? We've done our best, given him food and a roof over his head. Oh no, we didn't have any choice in the matter. He was dumped on our doorstep. There was a note telling us what we had to do.'

She laughed. There was no mirth in her laughter; it was an unpleasant sound, laced with bitterness and malice. 'That's what you wizards do, isn't it? Whatever you say, we ordinary mortals have to obey. You meddle in our lives, force us to do your dirty work, and then you think you have a right to complain about the results! How dare you?'

'Petunia, you've treated Harry like a slave,' said Snape. 'You've starved him; he's seven years old and he's no bigger than a toddler. You only give him old clothes that don't fit him-'

'We're not made of money! Maybe you should have thought about that before you gave us an extra mouth to feed!'

'What about Harry's Child Benefit? You receive a Guardian's Allowance as well, don't you?' Snape smirked. 'I'd say you've done rather well out of having Harry in your house. What do you spend that money on?'

Momentarily cowed, Petunia looked away. She was trembling (or shivering, perhaps).

Confident that he could proceed without further interruptions, Snape continued his lecture: 'you never praise Harry's achievements; in fact, you take any excuse to punish him. You let your son bully him. You're always scolding or belittling him; you've made it abundantly clear that you hate him and that you resent his presence in your house.'

Snape bared his teeth in a grimace. 'Yes, Harry was thrust upon you. No one asked you what _you_ wanted. It was expected that you'd behave like a decent human being, take good care of your sister's son and not mistreat him. Was that really too much to ask?'

Petunia nudged her husband, trying to rouse him. He didn't move. 'What do you want from us?' she said, looking at Snape through narrowed eyes.

'I want you to answer my question.'

'Why? What difference does it make?' said Petunia. 'You're a wizard and we're m- mu-' Petunia paused, but she couldn't remember the word. 'We're just normal,' she said hopelessly. 'As far as you're concerned, we're barely even human.'

Snape was surprised. It seemed as though Petunia had a realistic idea of the attitudes that many wizards (from some of the powerful Pure-blood families, at least) had towards muggles. Snape wondered where she'd gotten that from. Years ago, when they were both children, Petunia had been envious of Lily's magical powers. Perhaps Lily had told Petunia of some of the darker, nastier elements of the wizarding world to try to discourage her from poking her nose in where muggles weren't wanted. Or, well- Petunia had met James Potter. She had probably been annoyed that he had gawked at her as if she was a performing monkey.

'Do you remember me, Petunia?' he said curiously. 'It's me, Severus Snape, the boy from Spinner's End.'

Petunia gaped at him for a moment. Then, as realisation dawned, she let out a raucous screech. 'Oh, I remember! You're the boy who was always chasing after Lily- like a lovesick puppy- I remember we used to laugh at you.'

Snape stood, stony-faced. He made no reply.

'But then Lily decided she liked James Potter better than you,' Petunia said with a malicious snigger. 'Is that why you're here? Are you still trying to prove that you're the better man- Lily's knight in shining armour, here to save her brat? Do you think that she'd thank you for persecuting me and my husband?'

All the blood drained from Snape's face. He felt so furious that he could hardly breathe. 'You're lucky,' he rasped. 'I'm not here to punish you, though it would give me great pleasure. I just wanted to hear your side of the story.'

He aimed his wand at Petunia. She screwed up her eyes and let out a small squeal. 'I think I've heard enough,' he said grimly. '_Stupefy._'

Stunned, Petunia slumped against the headboard; she was still sitting up in bed. Snape cast a warming charm on the bed so that it would dry out, and then he cast _Mobilicorpus_ on Petunia's prone body so he could manoeuvre her back into her normal sleeping position. He wouldn't have minded leaving her to freeze, but he didn't want her to wake up in a few hours and realise that something very strange must have happened during the night. It was best if nothing was out of place.

Vernon Dursley hadn't moved. He was motionless, still as a statue. Snape somewhat suspected that Vernon had woken up by this point but that the Body-Bind Curse and Silencing Charm prevented him from moving or speaking.

He decided that he'd put his theory to the test. '_Finite_,' he said, aiming his wand at Vernon.

Vernon fell out of bed, flailing his arms, shouting incoherently. He hit the floor with a heavy thump, struggling to rise.

'I have only one thing I want to say to you,' said Snape, his voice oozing disdain. '_Stupefy_.'

Again, Snape used _Mobilicorpus_. Vernon Dursley was a mammoth of a man; Snape found it very difficult to lift him back into bed. It took several attempts.

When that was done, Snape surveyed his handiwork. Vernon and Petunia Dursley were both stunned, lying as if asleep. He carefully Obliviated them, removing their memories of this night; they would wake up with a few aches and pains, but otherwise they would have no reason to suspect that the reason for that had been anything other than an uncomfortable night's rest.

Snape closed the door behind him. He waited on the landing for a few minutes until he heard Vernon's snoring recommence; the man had gone from unconsciousness back to sleep without going through any intermediary stages. He couldn't say the same for Petunia, not definitely, but he didn't hear the sounds of anyone stirring in that room.

He removed the soundproofing charms from around Dudley's room and set up a new ward on the stairs. Then, satisfied that he had done what he'd set out to do, he went back downstairs and strolled into the kitchen.

He saw Harry and Lupin sitting at the table, looking very serious; Harry was clutching a miniature box of chocolate frogs.

'Ah, Severus,' said Lupin, 'just in time, excellent!'

'What do you want?' said Snape warily.

'The Dursleys told Harry that his parents died in a car crash,' said Lupin, bristling with indignation. 'I think it's time he heard the truth.'

'Very well,' said Snape, sitting down in the chair opposite Harry. 'How do you propose we go about this?'

Lupin frowned. He paused for a moment or so, contemplating, gathering his thoughts. 'Ten years ago, the British wizarding world was at war,' he said. 'An evil wizard- he called himself Lord Voldemort-'

Snape gritted his teeth and tried not to wince at the mention of the name.

'-gathered an army of murderers and tried to take over the country. He killed an awful lot of people, including some of the best wizards and witches of the age. By the end, most people were so afraid that there were only a few who dared to oppose him.'

'D-did you oppose him?' said Harry, wringing his hands together. Lupin's story had grabbed his attention and wouldn't let go; he was listening avidly.

'Yes,' said Lupin. He hesitated for a few seconds. 'And so did Severus. In fact, he had the more dangerous job; he was a spy.'

Snape scowled to conceal his bewilderment. Why would Lupin twist the truth to make him look good? Harry was gazing at him with eyes shining with hero worship; Snape couldn't stand it. He felt like a fraud.

'At the time, you were a small baby. Your parents had gone into hiding because Severus had found out that they were in danger; they were next on Voldemort's kill list. But Voldemort had spies of his own. One night, he went to the house where Lily and James were hiding out. He forced his way in. And then...'

He paused. He turned to Snape. 'Do you want to tell the next part or shall I, Severus?'

Snape's scowl darkened. He wasn't impressed by this transparent attempt to involve him in conversation; Lupin had left the hardest part up to him.

'I will,' he said, glaring at Lupin as if to say 'if you don't have the guts'. He angrily sucked in a breath. 'Your parents had no time to escape. James Potter was killed before he could do anything more than shout a warning. Lily died trying to protect you. She shielded you with her own body, but... the Dark Lord had no mercy. He killed her and then he tried to kill you.'

Ashen-faced, Harry said, 'b-but I'm not dead.'

'No,' said Snape, 'after all the terrible things he'd done, the Dark Lord was somehow unable to kill a tiny baby. His curse rebounded on him; it's a great mystery as to why. There was a terrible explosion, the house was destroyed and the Dark Lord's body was blasted to ashes. But, in spite of all that, you were left unharmed.'

'You're famous, Harry,' said Lupin. 'Everyone in the British wizarding world knows the story of how you vanquished the Dark Lord.' He had unconsciously shifted to using Snape's preferred nickname for Lord Voldemort.

The expression on Harry's face was a complex mixture of disbelief, amazement and consternation. 'They think _I_ did that?' he whispered.

'Yes, you were given the credit,' said Snape. He felt he had to take swift action to prevent Harry's head from getting swelled with all that fame. Harry was a pleasant, unpretentious boy; it would be a shame if he turned out like his father. There are many theories of how you survived. One of the wisest wizards in Britain today, Albus Dumbledore, says that it was because your mother died to save you; her love for you was a magic so powerful that not even the Dark Lord could withstand it.'

Harry sat, frozen. This information was too much for him to process all at once. The story of a war and a Dark Lord who had killed his parents was much like a fairy tale; it was so far removed from anything he had experienced that it didn't seem _real_ to him.

'Your parents loved you, Harry,' said Lupin softly. 'Never doubt that.'

Not for the first time that night, Harry felt his eyes brimming with tears.

* * *

><p>After that, Harry had a great many questions, which Lupin and Snape tried to answer as honestly as they could.<p>

'Severus, why do you call him the Dark Lord and Remus calls him Voldemort?' he asked.

'A lot of people are afraid to speak his name,' Snape said. 'For most people, the name is associated with so many atrocities, so much blood and death, that they don't even want to think about it. When... when I was a spy, pretending to be on Voldemort's side-' With difficulty, he forced himself to say it. '-I got into the habit of calling him 'the Dark Lord'. That's what all of his supporters called him.'

'Why was he called Voldemort? Did his parents call him that?'

'No, he chose the name himself.'

'Can I do that?'

'What name would you choose for yourself, Harry?' said Lupin with much amusement.

'I'd be... Severus Skywalker.'

Lupin laughed elatedly. 'You can't be Severus. We already have a Severus. And when did you ever see _Star Wars_?'

'There are three boys named Ben in my class at school,' said Harry. 'Um, _Star Wars_... Dudley wouldn't let me watch it, but I read what was on the cover of the box set. It looked like fun.'

'Amusing as this is, we don't have much time left,' Snape said, glancing at the clock. He remembered the pen and pencil that he'd stuffed into his pocket. 'Here,' he said, handing them to Harry. 'You should have these.'

Harry shook his head and tried to give them back. 'No, they're Dudley's,' he said anxiously. 'I can't take his stuff. He'll know.'

'That's easily dealt with,' Snape grunted. He transfigured the pen into a slightly different shape and changed the colour. Then he changed the pattern on the pencil shaft to one of dancing cartoon wizards (they bore an uncanny resemblance to Albus Dumbledore). He cast an anti-theft charm on both objects. Harry wouldn't have to worry about someone stealing them from him, not anymore. 'Is that better, Harry?'

'Yes, thank you, Severus,' said Harry, though he still looked uncomfortable.

'Harry, give me your glasses,' said Lupin, who'd been reminded of what he'd planned to do. Harry handed them over. Lupin cast a Find-Me Charm, linking Harry to his glasses. And then he cast a Notice-Me-Not-Charm on those glasses.

'We're going to try a little experiment,' said Lupin, putting the glasses down on the table. 'Severus, where are the glasses? Point me.'

Snape had been watching what Lupin was doing. He found it hard to look at the glasses; his gaze kept sliding away from where they were, but he managed to point them out.

'Turn away for a few seconds. Look at the wall,' said Lupin. 'Now can you point to those glasses for me?'

Snape tried but couldn't. He had a vague idea that the glasses were somewhere on the table, but he couldn't see where. Lupin's spell wouldn't allow him to notice them.

'Harry, pick up your glasses,' said Lupin.

Without even having to look, Harry reached out, picked them up and put them back on.

'Well, that worked,' said Lupin in a satisfied tone.

'You mean you weren't sure?'

'I'd never done it before,' said Lupin. 'Harry, we'll be back in a few days. If you have any problems with those glasses we can deal with it then.'

'Are you going now?' said Harry. His face was a picture of sadness.

'I'm afraid so,' said Snape, glancing at the clock. It had gone five o'clock. 'We'd best be off before the Dursleys get up.'

He tried to meet Harry's gaze but it was an impossible task. His eyes wouldn't look directly at those glasses. It was all Snape could do to keep Harry's face in sight.

'Do you need to go to the toilet before you go back to bed?' he asked.

While Harry nipped to the toilet, Snape and Lupin went around the kitchen, tidying up, making sure that everything was as it had been before. Snape removed the soundproofing spells he'd set up and they crept quietly out of the room.

'I had a lovely time,' said Harry who was standing next to the door to his cupboard. 'Thank you, Severus.' He darted forwards and hugged Snape about the knees. 'And you, Remus. Thank you for everything.'

'It was my pleasure,' said Lupin, ruffling Harry's hair fondly.

'We'll be back,' said Snape. 'It's a promise.'

Harry nodded. 'Bye,' he said, as he back into his cupboard, waving. He shut the door. Lupin turned the key in the lock so that Petunia would think it was just as she'd left it.

'I hate to leave him like this,' Lupin murmured. He looked sickened.

'It's just for a few days,' said Snape, going around and cancelling the rest of his soundproofing charms and the ward on the stairs. The Freezing Charm on the burglar alarm was the last spell he would remove before leaving the house. 'Come on!'

* * *

><p>It was a cold, gloomy, cheerless morning. Snape and Lupin were walking down the road to find a place where they could Disapparate without fear of being seen. They were both concealed by Disillusionment Charms, so they probably did not need to take extra precautions, but this was an opportunity for them to discuss their plan of action.<p>

'We need to rescue him soon,' said Snape, 'by the end of this week, preferably.'

'Tricky,' said Lupin, 'but I'm sure it can be done.' He shrugged. 'You know the plan. Are you happy with it?'

'It'll have to do.'

'When will I see you next?'

'Wednesday,' said Snape. 'Come to Hogwarts at around six o'clock.'

'Alright, I will.'

Lupin was about to walk under cover of the little clump of trees. 'I suppose this is where we part ways,' he said.

But Snape had something on his mind. 'Did you get Harry to learn the _Lumos_ spell in the end?'

'Eventually,' said Lupin with a faint smile.

'Why aren't you a teacher?' said Snape. It seemed like such an obvious solution to him. 'You seem to enjoy it, which is more than I ever managed. It would solve your money problems and you'd have to be better than some of the incompetents that Dumbledore has hired in the past.'

'I can't keep to a regular schedule,' said Lupin with a sad smile, 'not with my condition. It wouldn't be fair on the children. Although... recently, Dumbledore offered me the History of Magic job.'

'You should take it. Binns isn't fit to teach.'

'Being better than Binns isn't the same thing as being a good teacher,' Lupin sighed. 'Still, I'm considering it.'

'You do that,' said Snape. He thought that Lupin was being pigheaded about this, but it was none of his business. 'I'll see you on Wednesday.'

He Disapparated.

Lupin was lost in thought for a moment. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. All he wanted to do now was go home and get some sleep. He could hold off on making a decision about his future until later. He had the time.

* * *

><p><em>Originally, I wanted to call this chapter "A Night to Remember". I think I made the right choice.<em>

_Also, I wanted to have Snape introduce himself to Petunia as "the Ghost of Christmas Past", one of three phantoms who would visit her that night and urge her to change her ways. It amused me, but I realised that it didn't really fit._

_Hmm. It has occurred to me that this chapter is one that could be made decidedly dodgy if something else was substituted for the word "wand". You know what I mean. My dear readers, please, keep your minds out of the gutter._


	16. Best Laid Plans

_I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to update this story. I've been busy, but also I've been finding it difficult to write. I've known for a while that I would struggle to write this chapter and the next, partly because they involve a lot of technical details that I'm keen to get right- I'm obsessive about detail- but also because I've reached a very important plot point (Harry's rescue from the Dursleys) and I don't want to muck it up. I get a kind of performance anxiety. Sometimes it's easier just to mess around and switch my brain off._

_I will try to post the next chapter sooner, I promise!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen: Best Laid Plans<br>**

A few of the students at Hogwarts liked to get up very early and go to the Great Hall so that they could meet with their friends from other Houses. They could usually be sure that they would have the room to themselves until it was almost time for breakfast. Then, when the main body of students came flooding into the Great Hall, they would scurry back to their own House tables as if they had been caught in the act of committing some unspeakable crime.

Over the centuries, the social order at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had congealed, become immovably rigid, steeped in ritual and tradition. Many students clung to their House loyalties with something like patriotic fervour, even after they'd left Hogwarts. That was the way things had always been, for as long as anyone could remember.

Professor Dumbledore would have liked to have seen unity between the different Houses, but he was an old man and set in his ways. He was glad that students at Hogwarts were proud of their Houses and that this encouraged them to work hard to try to earn the most House points, all in a spirit of healthy competition. He knew that there were problems caused by excessive House pride: fights, arguments, bitter rivalries, accusations of favouritism and attempts at sabotage: he was quick to punish the worst offenders, but he trusted that the majority of his students were reasonable people and that they would see sense if it was pointed out to them. He assumed that he could change deeply entrenched attitudes with just a few well-chosen words.

From the point of view of most of the old wizarding families, whether a child was placed in one House or another was a matter of enormous significance. With one word, the Sorting Hat could seal a child's fate, for better or worse. If anyone examined the register of any particular year at Hogwarts they would have seen that not all Gryffindors were brave and not all Hufflepuffs were hardworking, that the majority of Ravenclaws were quiet and studious but not exceptionally intelligent and that some Slytherins had no ambitions that stretched beyond serving as thuggish bodyguards to someone in power. But still people in the British wizarding world spoke of the favoured attributes of each House as though they were the destiny of every child placed in that House.

Professor Dumbledore had been headmaster of Hogwarts for many years. In that time, he had spoken with dozens of parents who had insisted that there must have been a mistake and that their children should have been placed in a different House. Some of them had been tearful, or shaking; all of them had been visibly angry and upset. In his more whimsical moments he imagined that they saw the Hogwarts Houses as jelly moulds that their impressionable children could be squashed to fit.

Some students were shunned by their contemporaries in their own House for a variety of reasons; they tended to be the ones who were too weird, awkward and timid to really fit in. A few of them made friends in other Houses, but they were made to felt guilty about it; ideals of House loyalty were so ingrained that those students were fearful of seeming less than completely loyal. Hence they would schedule their meetings with their friends at times when they could be sure that there would be no else about; their meetings were furtive and secretive, snatches of animated conversation intermingled with tense silence and much gazing all around to see if anyone was spying on them.

And so, on Tuesday morning, before breakfast, a small group of students went to the Great Hall for their usual social get-together. On this occasion they were dismayed to find Professor Snape was there, sitting at the staff table, staring blankly into the distance. This had never happened before. They stared at him for a moment, wondering if he would suddenly spring into action and start yelling at them to get out and leave him in peace.

Several moments passed and Professor Snape did not react to their presence. They shared uneasy glances, unsure of what to do. They were uncomfortable with the idea of sitting down and pretending that this was a normal situation, pretending that Snape wasn't there and that he was unable to listen in to their conversations. The mood was ruined.

One by one, they trooped out of the room. There were other places where they could hang out.

Snape was only dimly aware that anyone else had entered the room. He was preoccupied, thinking of exactly how he was going to free Harry Potter from the clutches of the Dursleys, considering the plan from every angle and figuring out what could go wrong and how he would prepare for that eventuality. He looked at his watch, once, surprised that some of the students had gotten up so early, but he thought nothing more of it.

Breakfast time came soon enough and the Great Hall filled with people. Professor McGonagall had to ask Snape to pass her the salt three times before he took notice.

'Are you alright, Severus?' she asked, when finally he turned and gave her the little salt shaker.

'Hmm, yes,' he said distractedly, 'I'm fine.'

She narrowed her eyes and looked at him critically. Snape was gaunt and pallid (more so than usual!). There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked agitated, harried and restless, filled with nervous energy. He looked like a man who'd been given too much to think about.

'Have some coffee,' she said brightly, handing him the pot.

'Good morning, Severus!' said Dumbledore, sitting down. He seemed almost absurdly bright and cheery for the time of day. 'I've no doubt you'll be pleased to hear that I'm interviewing two candidates for your job later this week.'

Sipping his coffee, Snape looked intrigued. 'Two?' he said, after a moment.

'I wish I was surprised by Mrs. Vásquez's willingness to abandon every part of her life and travel halfway across the world to start a new career,' said Dumbledore with a pained smile. 'But- alas- that was exactly what I expected.'

'I'm sure she has her reasons,' said Snape.

Dumbledore gave no reply. Briefly, his features contorted in a frown. Changing the subject, he said: 'the school governors were dismayed that you've insisted upon leaving during term time, Severus. I had to tell them of the difficulties I've had in finding a replacement.'

Snape's expression was one of withering scorn. He had never cared about what the school governors thought about anything. To him, their disapproval mattered not at all.

'Mr. Malfoy seemed to take that as an invitation to put forward his own candidate for the job,' said Dumbledore. His tone was neutral, masking the apprehension he felt at what he suspected was another of Lucius Malfoy's attempts to place one of his favoured cronies in a position of authority at Hogwarts. 'He has recommended a Mr. Tihomir Stojanović, formerly a Professor at Durmstrang Institute.'

'He didn't teach Potions, then,' said Snape, frowning. He was familiar with the names of all of Durmstrang's Potions professors of the past century and Tihomir Stojanović wasn't one of them.

'At Durmstrang, Healing is an optional subject taught to students in their sixth and seventh years,' said Dumbledore. 'Mr. Stojanović taught Healing at Durmstrang for nearly a decade.'

'Why did he leave?'

'He was sacked,' said Dumbledore, carelessly. He stopped talking for a moment, calmly buttering a slice of toast, giving Snape time to process this latest revelation.

Snape's frown deepened. His mouth dropped open and he was about to say something. Then he sighed and shook his head. Dumbledore was being needlessly cryptic, trying to goad Snape into asking questions about why Mr. Stojanović had been sacked or why he hadn't been surprised by Mrs. Vásquez's eagerness to immigrate. With an effort, Snape suppressed his curiosity, telling himself that it didn't matter; he didn't need to know.

He drank the rest of his coffee.

He supposed that Mr. Stojanović's crime must have been minor, or else he must have been unfairly dismissed from his position at Durmstrang. Lucius Malfoy was no fool. He would not have suggested as a replacement Potions professor someone whose criminal convictions would make him obviously unsuitable for the role. If Durmstrang had a good reason for sacking Mr. Stojanovic then Dumbledore would have the perfect excuse not to hire him. Was Malfoy trying to appeal to Dumbledore's soft-hearted good nature by giving him an opportunity to aid a man who had been treated unjustly? Or did he have some other convoluted scheme in mind? Without knowing more of the facts, Snape couldn't guess at what Malfoy was plotting.

Dumbledore had repeatedly hinted that there was something seriously wrong in Mrs. Vásquez's life. Well, it didn't matter to Snape if her life had been a never-ending string of tragedies. What mattered was that she could do the job. If she chose to "travel halfway across the world to start a new career", that was her choice, one that she had every right to make.

Snape remembered that Carmenta Vásquez had been married to a famous wizard, but he couldn't remember the man's name or what he was famous for. It had nothing to do with Potions, so Snape hadn't bothered to take note. Maybe if his brain wasn't fuzzy with lack of sleep...

'They'll both be here on Thursday,' said Dumbledore. 'I'll want you to help me interview them, Severus.' He looked at Professor McGonagall. 'You too, Minerva, if you don't mind.'

Snape nodded distractedly. Professor McGonagall said she was 'looking forward to it.' The other members of Hogwarts' staff who'd been listening to the conversation were talking excitedly amongst themselves, picking over the information they'd been able to glean about the prospective candidates and openly speculating.

'I wondered if we might get Horace Slughorn back into teaching. I haven't seen him in years. ' Professor Flitwick chirped. Actually, he didn't sound very disappointed.

'This is better,' said Professor Kettleburn, spearing an apple on the end of the hook he had in place of a left hand. 'New ideas, youth, energy, that's what we're missing; we need some fresh blood around here!'

At that, Professor Quirrell looked indignant. He was a young man who had been hired as professor of Muggle Studies only a couple of years ago. He was a soft-spoken, blandly inoffensive man and sometimes even his colleagues seemed to forget his existence.

Kettleburn remained happily oblivious to the fact that Quirrell had taken offense. He took a big bite out of his apple, crunching it between his teeth. Some of the juice dribbled down his chin.

'You know, Sylvanus, there's been a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts every year since... I don't know. Isn't that enough "fresh blood" for you?' said Caedmon Fawcett, professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, with an amused chuckle.

Professor Fawcett was a stocky middle-aged man with a thatch of sandy brown hair and a goatee beard. In his younger days he had been an archaeologist, travelling across the world in search of the tombs, ruins and relics of the witches and wizards of ancient civilisations. He had agreed to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts for one year only; he was wary of the curse that had claimed the lives of many of his predecessors.

Several other members of staff homed in on this conversation. It seemed that almost everyone had an opinion they wanted to share. Professor Vector opined that, far from being an injection of "fresh blood", the "endless procession" of new Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers was representative of a kind of stagnation. A lot of mysterious deaths, serious injuries, illnesses and other bizarre events had been attributed to the curse, but in recent years no one had made any attempt to solve this lethally dangerous problem. It had become accepted as a fact of life at Hogwarts, part of the norm. Septima Vector was convinced that there must be a way to bypass the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. She had a theory that the dreaded curse would be rendered harmless if they were to abolish Defence Against the Dark Arts and institute a new subject with a different name but with a suspiciously similar remit.

Dumbledore explained that without knowing the exact nature of how Voldemort had cursed the Defence Against the Dark Arts position there was no way of knowing how the curse would react to the changes that Professor Vector had suggested. It was bad enough that he had to find a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher every year; he didn't want to run the risk of bringing down an even more horrible curse upon the castle. With a heavy sigh, Septima Vector conceded the point.

By this time, Snape had decided that he wasn't hungry, that he wasn't interested in listening to the rest of this conversation, and that he didn't want any more coffee. He would be teaching a double lesson that morning and he wanted to take a few minutes to compose himself beforehand. Muttering a few excuses, he stalked off in the direction of the dungeons. His colleagues were used to his sullen, standoffish behaviour. None of them thought it worthy of comment.

* * *

><p>It was a frustrating couple of days. Too often, Snape caught himself glancing at the clock. He was impatient to get his work over with so that he could focus on his plans for Harry Potter's rescue. However, some of his students were infuriatingly uncooperative. Snape preferred to deduct House points or banish the worst offenders from his lessons, but on a number of occasions he was forced to issue detentions. Snape could tolerate a certain amount of rudeness and disrespect from his students, mainly because now he could content himself with the thought that he would not be teaching them for much longer. Similarly, Snape was used to students who were lazy, workshy and unmotivated. At this stage, Snape's inclination was to ignore them. If they didn't want to learn then he had no desire to teach them. But there were a few students who combined their other faults with a worrying lack of self-preservation.<p>

Snape reserved his detentions for those people whose foolishness put themselves and others at risk. For example, during the last lesson on Tuesday, Snape had once again had to evacuate his classroom when he'd had the horrifying realisation that one girl's botched brew would produce large amounts of Hydrogen Cyanide because she'd done exactly what she'd been told not to do.

This week, Snape had arranged his detentions on Wednesday afternoon immediately after lessons finished for that day. Usually, Snape had some unpleasant task for offending students to do in his detentions. There were almost always cauldrons that needed to be scrubbed clean of potion residues. Or else he might set them to work preparing some disgusting potions ingredients such as pickled rats' brains or Flobberworm mucus.

On this occasion, Snape was in no mood to spend hours supervising some of his most idiotic students. He waited impatiently for them to arrive, fuming inside. When they were all lined up outside his office he began to berate them for the stupidity of what they had done. He spoke to each of them in turn, pointing out exactly how they had nearly caused permanent harm to themselves or to their classmates, identifying the faults that made them such unsatisfactory students and how they must improve if they wanted to achieve any successes in their OWLs and NEWTs. He spoke quietly, in a tone of such icy viciousness that he reduced two students to tears and left the rest looking shaken and harrowed.

He was merciless. He cut straight to the heart of the problem with a surgeon's precision. Afterwards, he stared around at the miserable group as though daring any one of them to put a toe out of line.

'That's it,' he said at last. 'You can go now.'

No one moved. The entire 'detention' had taken less than half an hour.

'Goodbye!' Snape shouted, marching into his office and slamming the door. There were other matters that he'd much rather be getting on with. He had been brewing some potions and he wanted to make sure that they'd be ready in time. The Potion of Non-Detection was ready and had been for the past day or so. He had made a start on his Traceable Paste; in another couple of hours it would be finished.

He was preparing the mixture in his smallest cauldron. He wouldn't need much of the Traceable Paste; in fact, a large quantity of paste might prove more of a hindrance than a help. Before long, the mixture had turned orange, thick and glutinous. Snape stirred the mixture with his wand, muttering the incantation that would create a mystical link between wand and paste. By speaking an activation phrase, he could make his wand point him in the direction of the paste; if smears from that same batch of paste could be found in more than one location, the wand would point to each of them in turn. Snape still had to choose an activation phrase. He eventually settled on 'the boy who lived'.

It was a quarter to six. There came a knock on the door.

'Come in!' said Snape, not bothering to turn around. As he'd expected, it was Lupin, early for the meeting they'd planned.

'Good evening, Severus,' said Lupin, stepping into the room. 'Er, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.'

'It makes no difference,' said Snape. He beckoned for Lupin to come closer. 'Lend me your wand.'

'My wand?' said Lupin in a tone of puzzlement. 'Why do you need my wand?'

Snape sighed and turned to look crossly at Lupin. 'Do you remember I explained to you how my Traceable Paste works?'

The light of dawning understanding was shining in Lupin's eyes. He nodded. 'Oh. Yes.'

'We'll need to keep track of Harry's whereabouts after the muggle authorities rescue him from the Dursleys,' said Snape. 'This method is cruder than I'd like, but it's a start. If it doesn't work we'll have to involve Dumbledore in our plans. With one of his devices he'll be able to find Harry.'

Lupin made a noncommittal noise. He handed his wand to Snape.

Using both wands to stir the paste, Snape spoke the words of the incantation, bringing the concoction to completion.

'The boy who lived!' he said finally, withdrawing the wands from the mixture. They came out clean, dry and unmarked, as if they'd never been used to stir the sticky paste. He gave Lupin his wand back.

'We'll smear the paste on something of Harry's,' he said. 'Then, when you hold out your wand and say "the boy who lived" your wand will point you in the direction of the paste.' He hesitated. 'Hmm. I don't know exactly what we'll smear it on. Harry doesn't have many possessions and what he has got is worthless junk, clothes that don't fit him and shoes that are falling to pieces. It would have to be something we could be sure that Harry would take with him, something that wouldn't casually be thrown away.'

Lupin searched through his pockets. 'Will this do?' he said, pulling out a small framed photograph of Lily and James Potter on their wedding day, smiling and waving and looking blissfully happy. It was a muggle photograph; the people in the photograph were forever frozen in time, motionless. 'I mean to give this to Harry.'

A sour expression had spread over Snape's face. 'That will do nicely,' he said through gritted teeth. 'May I?'

He took the photograph from Lupin, removing it from its frame. With a spatula he smeared a little of the Traceable Paste on the back of the photograph and along the inside of the frame, where it would be hidden from sight. 'Here,' he said, handing it to Lupin.

Snape abhorred wastage. He felt a twinge of annoyance that he'd used only a small amount of the Traceable Paste he'd made. The rest would have to be destroyed and then he would need to clean his equipment and workstation very carefully. If even a spot of it remained it could foul up his attempts to track Harry Potter later on. It was a pity, but what else could he do? He had already reduced the quantities of ingredients by as much as he dared.

'I thought we would put the plan into action tomorrow,' said Snape, showing Lupin the potions he had prepared. 'This is the Potion of Non-Detection. Three drops of this will make you invisible, silent and odourless for up to half an hour.

'And this is Veritaserum, the most powerful truth serum in existence. It's virtually indistinguishable from water and it can be mixed with any drink.'

'Do you think we'll need it?' said Lupin dubiously.

'For years, the Dursleys have treated Harry like a slave, verbally abused him and forced him to sleep in a cupboard. And they've gotten away with it,' said Snape, scowling and clenching his fists. His eyes were chips of obsidian. 'They've convinced his teachers- people who should have been looking out for Harry's best interests- that he's nothing but a lazy, disobedient brat. I won't let them get away with it this time. The truth will out.'

Lupin held out his hands, a pacifying gesture. 'Severus, the evidence against the Dursleys is already overwhelming. We don't have to use illegal means to force them to make a confession. We just have to make sure that the police see what's blindingly obvious.'

'What if they don't?' said Snape. He sighed and shook his head dispiritedly. 'Remus, if this plan fails, I will snatch Harry from the Dursleys myself and damn the consequences!'

Lupin was silent for a moment. This was a side of Snape that he hadn't seen before, but he didn't doubt that Snape meant every word. If some part of the plan went wrong, Snape would do something stupidly reckless.

When they had both been children at school, Snape had been a sly, scheming youth with a cruel sense of humour. Lupin hadn't liked him very much; nevertheless, he regretted that he hadn't done more to stop his friends bullying Snape. As an adult, Snape came across as aloof, cold and calculating. He had no friends and he was distrusted by many of his colleagues. Harry Potter was the only person that Snape seemed to care about. For Harry's sake, Snape was willing to do things that under normal circumstances he wouldn't contemplate.

Snape didn't like to leave anything up to chance. He liked things to be neat, orderly and predictable. If the plan for Harry's rescue had been left entirely up to him, it would have been micromanaged down to the last detail and he would have made sure that the actions and decisions made by all the people involved would have been exactly as he had preordained. Of course, he wouldn't have been a very good spy if he hadn't been capable of taking risks and changing his plans on the spur of the moment, but he preferred not to. He believed that luck was not on his side and that if anything could possibly go wrong it would.

'Give me the bottle of Veritaserum,' said Lupin. 'I hope I won't have to use it, but I will if there's no other option.'

For a moment, Snape stared questioningly at Lupin. Then, it occurred to him that he would probably have had to ask Lupin to administer the Veritaserum anyway. Tomorrow was Thursday. Snape would be working at Hogwarts for most of the day while Lupin would put the plan into action. It irritated him to have to rely on Lupin to this extent, but he could see no other option, not unless he wanted to have to wait for several weeks to rescue Harry. (Alternatively, they could rescue Harry during the weekend, but the problem with that was that it was difficult to predict what the Dursleys would do on those days. From Mondays to Fridays the Dursleys' schedule remained much the same, but on Saturday and Sunday they might go out for the day, visit friends or take a trip to the zoo or do any one of a hundred things that were impossible to plan for. No, Harry's rescue would have to take place on a weekday, Snape had decided.)

'Very well,' he croaked. His mouth had gone dry. 'I leave it up to you.'

The potions were in small glass bottles. Lupin stashed them in different pockets. Snape couldn't see any telltale bulges where the bottles should have been and he wondered about that. He guessed that Lupin had magically expanded the capacity of his coat pockets.

They talked about the plan for a while longer. It quickly became clear that they had exhausted this topic of conversation. By that time, Lupin felt that he'd had hammered into his skull exactly what he had to do and that he could have answered Snape's incessant questions in his sleep.

Snape called for one of the House-elves to bring them some food; Effy the House-elf brought a plate of sandwiches, a pot of tea and some fruit. They ate hungrily but made sure to save some for Harry. While they were eating they talked about inconsequential things.

'Are you still in danger of being kicked out of your flat?' Snape asked.

Lupin looked embarrassed. He shrugged. 'Yes. I haven't got the money and I've no chance of getting it. Still, never mind. It's nothing to lose my head over.'

'Tell Dumbledore that you'll take the History of Magic job,' Snape suggested. 'Ask him for an advance on your salary.'

'Even if I did that, I wouldn't be starting work until next year at the very earliest,' said Lupin with a shaky laugh.

'It's a great opportunity for you,' said Snape impatiently. 'Don't let it slide through your hands.'

After that, they still had hours before it would be safe to break into Number 4, Privet Drive that night. To pass the time, they played Wizard's Chess. It turned into a gruelling contest of skill, foresight and sheer nerve. In the end, Lupin was the winner, though it took him nearly three hours. Neither of them felt like playing another game, so Snape sat at his desk wading through another pile of essays that needed to be marked while Lupin lay down on the couch and made a half-hearted attempt at getting some sleep.

He was in a doze, dreaming fitfully (though he wouldn't remember his dreams when he woke up), when he felt someone shaking him awake. He opened his eyes, yawned and looked around, groggily.

'Come on,' said Snape. 'It's one o'clock. We're going to see Harry.' He waited until Lupin had staggered to his feet and was smoothing some of the wrinkles out of his shirt. 'Don't forget your coat,' he said, pointing to where Lupin had left it folded over the back of a chair.

'Alright,' said Lupin. 'Thanks.'

* * *

><p><em>I was tempted to write the outcome of the chess match as: "In the end, Snape lost, although Lupin was down to his underpants."<em>

_But that would be silly. And people might get the wrong idea, lol._


	17. They Said It Would Be a Surprise

_Excuses, excuses, blah blah blah..._

_Most of the reasons for why I've taken so long to write and upload this latest chapter are not good ones. However, I do have one good excuse: I've been writing another story, entitled 'The Inferi Wars'_. _It's a side-story set in the same world as 'Broken Lives', told from the perspective of Tihomir Stojanović._ _You'll find it if you look at my profile here on _FanFiction . Net

_Check it out, won't you? I hope you'll like it._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen: They Said It Would Be a Surprise<strong>

Early on Thursday morning, Harry woke up feeling anxious, fretful and on edge. It took a few moments for him to realise why he felt like that, to remember last night.

Remus and Severus had visited him during the night. Remus had presented him with a small framed photograph of his parents on their wedding day. Harry had never seen a picture of his parents before. He could happily have stared at that photograph for hours; he hadn't wanted to tear his gaze away from it.

For a while Remus had talked about Wizarding photographs and how, if they were developed with special magical chemicals, the people in the photographs would move as if alive. But the photograph of Harry's parents on their wedding day wasn't one of those photographs; it was a normal, muggle photograph.

'You don't have to worry about showing it to muggles, you won't be breaking the Statute of Secrecy,' Remus said. He frowned. 'That is... if there were any muggles you'd like to show it to. Um... better hide it from the Dursleys.'

He must have realised that he'd no need to mention the Dursleys; it was superfluous, unnecessary; Harry knew all that already. He flushed with embarrassment and averted his gaze. There was an uneasy silence for a minute or so.

Then, drawing breath, steeling his resolve, Remus spoke again. He asked if Harry wouldn't mind stopping by Mrs. Figg's house on his way home from school.

'You know Mrs. Figg?' said Harry, amazed.

'She told us where to find you, Harry,' said Remus.

Harry's mouth formed an 'o' of wonderment. For as long as he could remember, he had known Mrs. Figg as a strange old lady with a house full of cats who would babysit Harry when the Dursleys wanted him out of the way for a few hours. Harry didn't enjoy going to Mrs. Figg's house where everything was old, stained and reeking of cats, but he had to admit that she treated him better than the Dursleys ever did.

He was astonished by this latest revelation. Was Mrs. Figg a witch? For how long had she been in touch with Remus and Severus? Harry was forced to think back and reassess his meetings with Mrs. Figg in light of this new information. She seemed harmless. What was she really? What magical powers was she hiding?

'Why do you want me to go to Mrs. Figg's house tomorrow?' he asked. It was an odd request and Harry couldn't think why Remus would ask that of him.

'It's a surprise,' said Remus with a nervous grin. 'Do you trust me?'

Harry's first impulse was to flee. He found it hard to trust anyone. These late-night meetings with Severus- and now Remus- were the best things in his life, but still he feared that he was the victim of some horrible joke and that he had been shown happiness only to have it roughly taken away from him.

Remus's grin faded away.

'I- I've known you for less than a week,' said Harry, looking apprehensive. 'But I do trust you- and Severus.'

'_Especially Severus_,' was the unspoken addendum to that sentence.

'Well, that's all sorted then,' said Remus, rubbing his hands together, acting as though Harry had agreed to his request.

It was at this point that Snape took the opportunity to distract Harry with some of the food he had brought: fish and chips, this time. The Hogwarts House-elves had cooked it to perfection, tender white fish in crispy batter and golden fried chips. Harry's attention was occupied for quite some time after that, munching happily. Remus and Severus were ill at ease, their conversation stilted and forced.

Remus made his excuses and left soon after.

Severus stayed for a while longer. He had seemed to relax a bit. Some of the tension was gone out of him now that he could speak to Harry alone. He talked for a while about the job that he was leaving behind, that of Potions Master at Hogwarts. He strayed onto the subject of places he thought Harry should see, things he thought Harry might enjoy and people he ought to meet. Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts, was one of those people. And also...

'You have a cousin at Hogwarts. Her name is-' It was a conditioned reflex that made him hesitate. '-Nymphadora Tonks. She's thirteen years old. Warm-hearted. Bright. I'm sure you'll like her.'

'Will you bring her to see me?' said Harry, excited at the thought that he still had living relatives in the wizarding world.

'Soon,' said Severus, although he seemed oddly evasive about it. 'You'll see her. Not here, though.'

Harry was a little disappointed. He enjoyed these midnight meetings, but he supposed that Miss Tonks would not want to stay up so late. To Harry, aged seven, "thirteen years old" seemed awfully grown up, but adults such as Severus and Remus probably wouldn't see it that way. Maybe Severus would bring Miss Tonks (Harry struggled to remember her first name and pronounce it with any confidence) to meet him one of these days after he was coming home from school, or maybe that was why Remus had wanted him to go to Mrs. Figg's house tomorrow. Although, thinking about that some more, Harry doubted it, sort of.

'I'll arrange for you to meet the Tonks family,' said Severus. 'Nymphadora Tonks's mother is Andromeda Tonks. She's another cousin of yours. Her husband is Ted Tonks. He's a magical handyman. I've heard he's very good at repair work. They are-'

For a moment, Snape couldn't think what to say about the Tonkses. He was unused to complimenting other people. It was something he found difficult even when he could be reasonably certain that those people would never find out what he had said about them.

He had to rack his brains for something to say. Well, Ted Tonks was easygoing and friendly enough. Andromeda Tonks was a forceful personality, fierce in the defence of her family, shrewd and perceptive enough that Snape had been quite wary of her. He had told a lot of lies, pretended that Harry had had a normal upbringing, gave credit to Dumbledore where no credit was due; he was sure that Andromeda Tonks' piercing intellect could unravel his web of lies if he gave her any reason to do so. He couldn't very well explain that to Harry, though.

'They're nice people,' said Snape, pretending that he hadn't been a lengthy halt in his explanation. 'You'll love them.' There was a note of determination in his voice; it was clear in his mind that this was something that was definitely going to happen.

Harry nodded uncertainly. He was gloomily certain that if the Dursleys knew that Harry had some relatives who actually might like him they would find some way to bar him from ever getting into contact with them. Severus was talking obliquely about the kind of life that Harry only wished he had, a life in which he had friends and a family who loved him, who wanted to spend time with him and take him to interesting places. He was stuck here with the Dursleys. Nothing was going to change; he would only be able to snatch a few fleeting glimpses of that other life, here with Severus or Remus in the dead of night.

'You will go to Mrs Figg's house tomorrow, won't you?' said Severus. He turned a serious gaze on Harry.

'I suppose so,' said Harry, shrugging. 'But I don't see why.'

A sour mood curdled Severus's expression. 'I can't tell you yet,' he said woodenly. 'Afterwards, it will be better if you can honestly say that you didn't know what was going to happen.'

'What is going to happen?' said Harry. His curiosity was aroused. He wanted to know what Severus was hinting at.

'It's a surprise.'

'That's what Remus said!' Harry groaned.

'Well, yes,' said Severus. His tone was tinged with a faint trace of annoyance.

Harry hoped that Severus wasn't angry with him. 'I'm sorry,' he said automatically.

Severus looked at him quizzically. 'What for?' he asked. He shook his head as if to shake off any distractions. 'Harry, promise me that you'll go to Mrs. Figg's tomorrow after school.'

'Is it that important?'

'Yes. It is.'

Harry bit his lip anxiously. He couldn't imagine what was going to happen that could possibly be so important. For a brief, shining instant he dared to hope that maybe Mrs. Figg's house would be his gateway to the world of magic and Severus would be there to escort him into his new life and that he would see his cousins there and he would never again have to go back to the Dursleys. But, if that was what Severus and Remus were planning to do, why was it so vital that he go to Mrs. Figg's house? Why couldn't they just take him away with them now? Why hadn't Severus rescued him on that first night he broke into Number Four, Privet Drive?

No, it was obvious that they had something else in mind. Harry was stuck with the Dursleys.

'Alright,' said Harry, looking into Severus's dark eyes. 'I promise.'

Severus seemed satisfied with that. He changed the subject. For a little while he talked about the glorious mysteries and intricacies of the Potion master's art, how it was possible to work subtle and potent magic by, mixing the ingredients with careful precision and (perhaps) the application of heat. A witch or wizard could channel magic to induce the ingredients to form compounds that muggle chemists would find exceedingly difficult or even impossible to reproduce. (Harry didn't know what the word "muggle" meant and Remus's speech had left him none the wiser. Severus hastily explained that muggles were "non-magical people").

According to Severus, potion making was a "sorcerous science", with none of that "haphazard wand waving" or "messing about with tea leaves". Harry listened with rapt attention. He didn't understand a lot of what Severus had to say about potions, but he was enthralled by what little he did understand; it was fascinating!

He was very much intrigued by the examples Severus gave of the things that could be used as potion ingredients: dragon blood, fairy wings, nettles, dreams, unicorn horns, porcupine quills, cockroaches, half-remembered thoughts and distilled desires. He wondered how witches and wizards ever got hold of some of the more outlandish items on that list. What was the average life expectancy of someone who had the job of extracting blood from dragons?

Severus must have thought that he was in danger of losing his audience. He had asked Harry if there was anything that he would like to talk about. Harry had asked him to tell him more about Hogwarts; he was eager to hear more about the wizarding school that he would be going to when he was a bit older. Severus had told him about the enormous, ancient castle, with its ghosts, dungeons and secret passageways. And, within the grounds of Hogwarts, there was the Quidditch pitch, the Whomping Willow, and the Forbidden Forest populated by raucous centaurs and dangerous wild beasts. To Harry, it had sounded like the most marvellous story he'd ever heard. He longed to be part of it, experience it for himself.

In less than four years, Harry would be attending Hogwarts as a student. Right now, those years seemed to stretch far into the distance. He could hardly wait.

Best of all, Severus had told him that Hogwarts was a boarding school. He would be there for nine months of the year. The Dursleys would be happy to see him gone. They wouldn't want to take him back. He might never have to see them again after that!

It was late at night. Or rather, it had been very early in the morning. Severus had looked concerned. 'You should sleep, Harry,' he'd said.

'But-'

Harry had tried to protest, but he couldn't keep from yawning. He had been very tired.

Severus had frowned for a moment. Rifling through his pockets, he'd whipped out a tiny sealed bottle which he'd given to Harry. 'Just this once,' he muttered. 'Drink it in the morning, as soon as you wake up- or as soon as you remember.' He hadn't bothered to warn Harry to hide the bottle from the Dursleys. He trusted that Harry well knew the importance of keeping a secret.

'Come on. Let's get you to bed,' he had said, grimacing. Harry had only a filthy pile of rags to sleep on. Calling it a bed was an insult to beds everywhere.

Restraining his anger, forcing it to the back of his mind (over many years, a great lake of anger had formed there, fed by many tributaries, ever threatening to burst its banks), Snape had beckoned for Harry to follow him back to the cupboard under the stairs.

'Goodnight, Harry,' he'd said, waiting until Harry had settled down in as comfortable a position as he could find. He had closed the cupboard door, and locked it. He was glad that this was the last time he would ever have to do that. Tomorrow, Harry would be rescued from the Dursleys. It would not be a smooth, easy process. There were still difficulties to overcome and obstacles to navigate, but in the end it would be worthwhile. He hoped.

Now, in the chill of early morning, lying in his tattered blankets, Harry reached for the framed photograph that Remus had given him. It was the best present he'd ever received, far better than anything he'd been given on any of the birthdays he could remember. (On Harry's seventh birthday, for example, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had given him a pile of Dudley's old clothes.) It was too dark to see clearly; only a few faint specks of light filtered through the cracks. Still, Harry felt better just for having it near him; it belonged to him; it was the only thing he had to connect him with his parents.

Harry was accustomed to waking up at this time. And yet, he was barely conscious. His arms and legs felt leaden and his head felt fuzzy. This was the price he paid for his nocturnal adventures. It was only the knowledge that Aunt Petunia would soon come knocking on his cupboard door that kept him from drifting off to sleep again.

Then he remembered the little bottle of potion that Severus had given him. He had been afraid of breaking it, so he had stashed it in one of the corners at the back of the cupboard, where he was unlikely to roll over and crush it. He reached for it, fumbling about in the dark. When he found it, he prised off the lid and tilted the bottle so as to pour its liquid contents into his mouth. The potion had a bitter, acrid taste; Harry swallowed it quickly; fortunately there wasn't very much of it. He coughed a few times, wishing that he had some water with which to wash it down.

All at once he felt a surge of energy coursing through his body like a jolt of electricity. His heart was thudding in his chest and he no longer felt the dull weight of tiredness; the residue of slumber was swept away; instead he felt invigorated, fully awake and ready to leap into action. He quickly got dressed in his school uniform. He made sure to secrete the framed photograph and the empty potion bottle in his trouser pockets until he could find a more appropriate hiding place.

While he waited for Aunt Petunia his mind was fizzing with activity, collating information, making great intuitive leaps, considering all possibilities, making plans for the future. His brain had often been starved of nourishment. The Dursleys had done their best to stunt Harry's intellectual growth. But now he felt sharper and more alert than ever before.

Severus had given him the potion, muttering that it was "just this once". With that in mind, Harry considered the possible drawbacks that the potion might have, why Severus had been reluctant to give it to him. Then he realised that so many frenetic thoughts and insights were racing around in his head that it felt suddenly overcrowded, almost as if it might burst. He was in such a state of excitement that he found it nearly impossible to keep still.

There came a rapping on the door to Harry's cupboard. As soon as Aunt Petunia unlocked the door and opened it a little way, and before she could chastise him for being "lazy", Harry bolted through the open door and galloped into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia watched in open-mouthed astonishment for a moment, but by that time he had vanished from sight. She surreptitiously followed him into the kitchen where she found him cooking breakfast. He moved briskly and with an efficiency that was almost machinelike.

On most days, before Harry had finished cooking, Dudley would come crashing down the stairs shouting that he wanted his breakfast. Petunia would speak to him, ingratiatingly and sugar-sweetly, trying to placate him, and sometimes she managed it. But there were plenty of other times when Dudley had thrown a tantrum, kicking and screaming and thrashing about until Petunia had resorted to bribery to get him to stop. However, this once, Dudley's breakfast was ready by the time he came stomping into the kitchen. Harry handed him the plate of greasy food just as he was about to demand it. Dudley looked nonplussed by this disruption to his daily routine, but it didn't stop him from wolfing down the food with his usual messy enthusiasm.

Uncle Vernon came into the room in time to watch Dudley greedily devouring a second helping of bacon and eggs. 'Little tyke,' he said fondly, sitting down to eat. It didn't occur to him to wonder where Harry was.

Harry was gone. He had eaten the small portion of food that was allocated to him quickly as if it might be taken away from him (which, for Harry at least, was often a danger in the Dursley household). Then he had washed up his plate and cutlery, picked up his schoolbag and darted out of the front door while no one was looking. He decided that he'd go the long way to school today.

* * *

><p>Sleep was a luxury that Severus Snape could not afford. He had returned to Hogwarts on Thursday morning at approximately half five. He wanted to go to bed but he didn't think he'd be able to get up in time for his morning lessons, so instead he busied himself with gathering his belongings from all around his office and private quarters and from some of the classrooms, packing his suitcase. He knew he'd soon have to vacate the premises to make room for the next Potions Master (or Mistress?). He still had a week left in the job, but he liked to be prepared.<p>

Unfortunately, he had forgotten that Dumbledore had said that the two applicants for his job would be arriving on this day. It came as a nasty surprise to him when Dumbledore reminded him of that fact at breakfast that morning.

'What?' he said brusquely after Dumbledore had shaken him out of a pleasant daydream. 'What do you want me to do?'

'They'll both be arriving at Hogwarts during the early afternoon,' said Dumbledore patiently. 'I'll show them around the school. At the end of the school day- at about four o'clock- I want you and Minerva to help me interview them in turn.'

It took a while for Snape to get to grips with this piece of information. His eyes widened and he emitted a frustrated groan. 'I can't,' he said feebly. 'I'm busy. I-' He glanced wildly around the room, shuddering at the recollection of how perilously close he'd come to blurting out the name 'Harry Potter' within earshot of the majority of his colleagues and five hundred gossiping teenagers.

Taking a deep breath, he said, carefully, 'I have something else to do. You know. It's important.'

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. He wore an expression of disappointment on his face. He sighed. 'Yes, it is important,' he said. 'But did it have to be today?'

Snape grunted noncommittally, staring down at his now-empty mug of coffee. But Dumbledore wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. When Snape got up and tried to slink off to his classroom Dumbledore insisted on going with him.

'I've a lesson to prepare for,' Snape protested.

'This will only take a moment or two,' Dumbledore assured him. He shut the classroom door and flourished his wand, casting a few spells to make sure that this conversation would not be overheard. 'I trusted you and Remus to move Harry Potter to a loving family who would treat him kindly and keep him safe. What have you done so far?'

Snape found himself trying to justify his actions. He talked about how Lupin had investigated the Potters' will and the Wizengamot's record of child custody cases and how he'd come to the conclusion that Harry Potter would be better served by the muggle legal system. He talked about the plans they'd made and mentioned that their preparations had been set back for a few days by the Full Moon and Lupin's need to recover from it. He explained how he'd visited Harry in the middle of the night. He suspected that Dumbledore already knew that, but he wanted to take this opportunity to talk more about Harry: a very agreeable child, friendly and inquisitive-

'So, nothing like the "dunderheads" you usually have to teach,' Dumbledore smiled. He had raised a hand to forestall Snape while he was getting caught up in his testimony. 'Well done, Severus. But why did you decide to set your plan in motion today of all days?'

Snape scowled. 'I forgot,' he admitted. He was unused to admitting when he was at fault and he did it grudgingly.

After that, Dumbledore made Snape explain the plan. He knew that for most of the day Snape would be teaching, so even if he didn't have to interview Mr. Stojanović and Mrs. Vásquez he wouldn't be doing anything to help with Harry's rescue until late afternoon at the earliest. Snape told him that he had delegated most of the work to Lupin but that he hoped to be there in time to oversee the final stages of the plan and make certain that nothing went awry.

Gazing at the clock, Snape was acutely aware of the fact that his lesson should have started several minutes ago. He was restless, pacing back and forth across the classroom, waiting for Dumbledore to give his verdict.

'I think that there is no immediate need to make a decision as to who will be Hogwarts' next Potions Master,' said Dumbledore ponderously. 'However, I want you to meet both of them today, for a short while at least.'

'In the Great Hall, at dinner, tonight?' Snape shrugged.

'I doubt it,' said Dumbledore. 'I'll bring them to see you in your classroom at the end of the day, after your last lesson.'

'Fine,' said Snape. He accepted that he wasn't going to get a better deal out of Dumbledore and he wanted to hurry the Headmaster out of his classroom before he wasted any more of his lesson time. Oblivious of the fact that Snape was trying to push him through the doorway, Dumbledore started waxing lyrical about his idea of having either of the prospective candidates for the job of Potions Master teach one of Snape's lessons while several members of Hogwarts staff (Snape included) were there to observe them. Yes, it was interesting and Snape agreed that it was a good idea, but this was no time to discuss it. He had a class to teach.

Thankfully, he at last managed to get rid of Dumbledore. He hastily looked around the corridor to see what had become of his students. He expected that he'd have to go and round them up. They were easily bored and wickedly inventive; he dreaded to think of what mischief they might get up to if they were left to roam around the castle unsupervised. (Snape didn't care what they did during the weekends, during the lunchtime break or after school. It was how they behaved when they were supposed to be in one of his lessons that worried him.)

He was relieved to find them lined up in an orderly queue outside the classroom, waiting for him. There was a murmur of chatter which faded away when they saw that they had Snape's undivided attention. They'd all seen him ushering Dumbledore out of his classroom, seen Dumbledore ambling down the corridor, still dispensing unwanted advice. Snape decided that he'd let them draw their own conclusions as to what was going on.

'Come in,' he said, wedging the door open. 'We might as well get on with it.'

There wasn't enough time left for what he had planned for this lesson. Snape was forced to improvise. He knew that one of the candidates for his replacement, Carmenta Vásquez, was the inventor of a fire-retardant substance that could be used to douse most magical fires. That knowledge, floating above the level of conscious thought, influenced his decision as to how to use up the remainder of the lesson.

'Most potions need to be heated in a cauldron over a fire,' he said. 'You've all had a great deal of practice in brewing potions here at Hogwarts. I trust I don't need to tell you that fire is dangerous. You all know that; you're not little children any more.

'I'm glad I can say that none of you have been horribly burnt in any of my lessons so far. Quite an achievement, considering the carelessness and sloppiness with which some of you have handled boiling-hot potions mixtures, harmful chemicals and-' He sighed wearily, rolling his eyes at the memory of some of these incidents. Taking a breath, he continued: '-on more than one occasion, a cauldron that melted to a fused lump. You've been lucky.'

He stalked around the classroom, glaring at one or two of his students until he was sure that they were listening to what he had to say.

'How many of you live in wizarding households?' he asked. It was a rhetorical question. He didn't wait for students to stick their hands up. There were a handful of muggle-born students in that class and he had no desire to submit them to uncomfortable scrutiny. 'I'm sure you have all kinds of magical items lying about the home: old wands, toys, photographs, kitchen appliances and so on. Most of those things can be set on fire. Magically-powered fires can very quickly blaze out of control. I'm sure that none of you would like to see your homes reduced to smouldering ruins. So how can we minimize the risks of fire, not just in the Potions classroom but elsewhere, in everyday life?'

He searched the room for a worthy target for his next question. He chose a vacant-looking girl who seemed to spend the majority of her time fiddling with her hair. 'Miss O'Farrell, do you have any ideas?'

There followed a lively discussion of sensible precautions that should be taken against the possibility of fires getting out of control, magic items that were known to be especially volatile or inflammable and should therefore be kept as far away as possible from fires, and methods of extinguishing magical fires if it became necessary. Snape once had to step in to curtail a lengthy digression on the subject of Ashwinders. One of the boys was altogether too keen to show off his knowledge of Magical Creatures.

For homework, Snape asked the students to write an essay comprising two rolls of parchment on the subject of 'fire safety'. They had a few minutes left before the bell was due to ring to signal the end of the lesson, so Snape told them that they could make a start. This announcement met with general approval. By the time the bell rang some of them had nearly finished.

Snape was achingly tired, but that didn't matter. Tiredness was an old enemy, one that he had conquered many times before. There were potions he could take to keep exhaustion at bay. He'd given one of them to Harry; still, he had plenty more.

Worse was the creeping anxiety gnawing at his heart. He tried to bury himself in his work and so he was distracted for a little while. But he couldn't rid himself of the ominous sense of dread that was hanging over him. Over the course of the day that feeling only intensified. It reached a point where he couldn't concentrate, could hardly think about anything at all. He caught himself staring at the clock, counting the seconds as they ticked past, waiting, waiting.

It seemed like he was waiting forever.

* * *

><p>Time passed by. Morning turned into afternoon. Fatigue was seeping back into Harry's body. His brain had been soaring on a higher intellectual plane but, gradually, he sunk back down to normal. That perfect lucidity slipped out of his grasp. He felt slow and stupid now that stray thoughts weren't rocketing around inside his skull.<p>

He had enjoyed the benefits of Severus's potion while they'd lasted. The teacher, Mrs. Milner, had praised him when he'd answered a few of her questions almost as soon as she'd asked them. And then, at lunchtime, when Dudley and his gang came to punish him for daring to excel, Harry had dodged past them and run away faster than any of them could follow. They had been unable to catch him.

Harry was curious as to why he should go to Mrs. Figg's house after school. He thought about that a lot. But he didn't let it bother him too much. This day was pretty much the same as any other.

When the bell rang for the end of the school day, Harry set off on the quest that Remus had given him. He successfully avoided Dudley and his gang when they attempted to ambush him along the way. He couldn't see any reason to wait, so he headed directly to Mrs. Figg's house.

He knocked on the door. After a minute or so, Mrs. Figg slowly opened the door. Three large cats were milling about her ankles. One of them, an ugly sandy-coloured tom, had stuck his claws into her leg and was stubbornly trying to climb up onto her back. She was unwilling to dislodge him (she thought that she was being kind), so she walked with a peculiar shuffling gait.

'Good afternoon, Mrs. Figg,' said Harry.

'Oh, Harry!' she said, beaming at him. 'Remus said you'd be coming. Well, come in! Would you like some tea?'

'No, thank you,' said Harry. He followed her into the lounge, wrinkling his nose at the cat stench in that room. She offered him a seat. He didn't want to sit down, but he did so out of politeness. Anyway, it needn't be for very long.

A small, elderly cat decided that it wanted to sit on his lap. Harry gently pushed her away but she was obstinate.

'She likes you, Harry,' said Mrs. Figg, cooing rapturously. 'Aww. Who's a pretty girl, then? You are, Tiddles, yes you are!'

Harry gazed longingly in the direction of the front door, but it seemed a shame to run away now. He'd come this far. Why had Remus asked him to come here, anyway? He was eager to know.

Not wanting to offend Mrs. Figg, he allowed the small, elderly cat to curl up on his lap. She (the cat, not Mrs. Figg) started making a rumbling, creaking sound like a car repeatedly failing to start. Apparently she was purring.

'It's been ages since I've seen you, Harry,' said Mrs. Figg, smiling through a sudden onset of tears. Possibly that was because she was glad to see Harry, but it seemed more likely that it was because the sandy-coloured cat that had attached himself to her leg had viciously scratched her. With a cry of pain, Mrs. Figg threw the cat halfway across the room; he let out a wailing yowl of protest as he was ripped from his perch.

Dabbing her eyes, Mrs. Figg went off in search of a first aid kit. Several times, Harry asked if there was anything he could do, any way he could help, but she assured him that she would be back in a minute and he should just sit down if he didn't mind waiting.

She was gone longer than a minute. The cat on Harry's lap yawned and stretched and then settled down in a new position when Harry had started to fidget. He stroked her a few times, thinking that that was what he was supposed to do. He wasn't really fond of cats.

Then, coming from a room adjacent to the lounge, Harry heard Mrs. Figg speaking in an agitated whisper, talking to someone. Someone- a _man_- muttered a few nonsense words. Was that Remus's voice? Excited, Harry was about to get up and investigate, but then Mrs. Figg came back into the lounge. The bloody scratches on her leg had been healed; Harry couldn't see even a mark of where they'd been.

'Is Remus here?' he asked eagerly.

'N-no,' said Mrs. Figg. She sat down on the armchair next to Harry.

Harry knew that, for many years, Mrs. Figg had lived alone except for her pet cats. Harry knew that he'd heard a man's voice in the next room and he was tempted to ask Mrs. Figg who that was. But Aunt Petunia had taught him to mind his own business. He was dimly aware that there were some things that should not be topics of conversation. Aunt Petunia had walloped him a few times when she'd thought that he was being cheeky. Harry had learned his lesson.

So, instead, Harry asked Mrs. Figg, 'what sort of magic did you use to heal your leg?' He was disappointed not to see Remus here, but he thought that if he could learn a bit more about magic that would be some compensation.

Mrs. Figg nervously moistened her lips. 'I can't use magic like that,' she said. 'I'm a squib.'

'Er...'

Mrs. Figg explained that "squib" was an unkind word for someone who was born to magical parents but who had no ability to channel magic or cast spells.

'Still, many squibs _do_ have some magical talents,' she said firmly. 'Crystal-gazing, palm-reading, the ability to see some magical creatures that muggles can't: that sort of thing. I myself have a magical affinity with animals, cats in particular.' She spoke with supreme confidence despite the fact that, within the past ten minutes, she had been mauled by one of her pet cats.

'Uh, right,' said Harry. Mrs. Figg had provided him with a wealth of new information that he needed more time to think about. There was an important question he wanted to ask. He was trying not to be distracted. 'How did you-?'

'I expect you're wondering why Remus asked you to come here today,' Mrs. Figg said loudly. 'Well, Harry, there's something I need you to tell me. I expect you won't want to tell me, but please, be brave. It's very important.'

Seeing the doleful expression on Mrs. Figg's face, Harry prepared himself for a harrowing battery of questions, so he was mystified when she said, 'Remus told me that the Dursleys make you sleep in a cupboard, that they lock you in at night so you can't get out. Is that true?'

Harry nodded. He couldn't see why Mrs. Figg needed to know his sleeping arrangements. Why did she ask him to confirm what she already knew?

'Do they starve you, Harry?'

'Not really. Sometimes they make me go to my cupboard and stay there and don't let me have any food, but apart from that... no, I don't think so.'

She asked more questions, about having to wear Dudley's old cast-offs that were much too big for him and how he had to wear the cheapest spectacles Aunt Petunia had been able to find and repair them after Dudley had snapped them.

'They're fixed now, though,' he said proudly, showing them to her. 'Severus fixed them for me.'

Try as she might, Mrs. Figg found herself unable to look at Harry's glasses. Her eyes kept sliding away from them. She smiled, nodded and said they were "very nice".

She asked Harry a few leading questions to make him talk about how, until recently, he had never had anything of his own. He had taken some old, broken toys that Dudley had no further use for, but when he saw Harry playing with them Dudley had screamed, bawled and whined until Harry was forbidden from playing with anything that belonged to Dudley for ever after that (it didn't stop him from taking a few of those old, broken toys to play with in secret). The Dursleys wouldn't tell Harry anything but lies about his parents. They never allowed him to feel proud of who he was and where he had come from.

'Remus gave me this photo of my parents!' he said, smiling broadly, handing it to her. 'This was taken on their wedding day!'

'Lovely,' said Mrs. Figg. 'They look so happy.'

She pressed Harry to tell her more about how the Dursleys mistreated him. Reluctantly, he told her about all the chores they made him do and how Dudley never had to help around the house. He told her that they encouraged Dudley to hit him. They didn't want him, he was nothing to them, they wished he'd go away and stop being a burden.

Before long, Harry was sick of these questions. Trying to change the subject, he asked Mrs. Figg how she knew Severus and Remus, where she had met them. She told him that they all belonged to a secret club called 'the Order of the Phoenix'. He asked for more details; she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.

'I- I think you'd better run along now, Harry,' she said. 'Your aunt and uncle will be wondering where you are.'

Gloomily, resigned to his fate, Harry tipped the elderly cat off his lap, stood up and trooped towards the door. He thought it cruel of Mrs. Figg to ask him all those questions and then send him straight back to the Dursleys. He had thought that maybe she would help him, but... well, what was she playing at?

'G'bye, Mrs. Figg,' he said tonelessly as he left the house. He was about to turn and walk down the street into Privet Drive when a thought struck him. He had heard Mrs. Figg talking to a man in the room adjacent to the lounge. If Harry waited a few moments, stayed out of sight, spying through the windows of Mrs. Figg's house, he might catch a glimpse of that man.

He waited for several minutes, but the only person he saw was Mrs. Figg. She had gone into the hallway where she had picked up the receiver of her antiquated telephone and was speaking to someone on the other end. She was visibly distressed; Harry couldn't hear what she was saying and her face was slightly turned away from where he was standing watching, but he thought he saw tears in her eyes. Who had called Mrs. Figg, so soon after Harry had left? Who was causing her such upset?

Indignant, Harry wished there was something he could do to help Mrs. Figg. But, of course, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't even defend himself from Dudley Dursley and his gang of seven years olds. All he could do was run away.

Severus had said that he was a wizard and that he could do magic. But he hadn't been trained in magic. He could only use it by accident, when he was exceptionally angry or scared or frustrated. Although some very peculiar things had happened when Harry was around (for which the Dursleys had made sure that he was severely punished), Harry had not realised that he was doing magic until Severus had explained it to him.

Magic was fickle. He couldn't rely on magic for anything. A few times, magic had saved Harry from a relatively minor danger only to get him into worse trouble later on. For example, Harry was used to the game of Harry-Hunting. These days, it didn't bother him too much. Often, he managed to escape, but he had been caught a few times. One of the members of Dudley's gang (it was almost always Piers Polkiss) would keep hold of Harry's arms and make sure he didn't get away while Dudley and the rest of the gang took turns hitting him. They hurt him, but not _too_ badly. They enjoyed a privileged status; they all had doting parents and they took shameless advantage of the goodwill of the teachers at school who seemed to think that they were "alright lads, really". They were careful to restrict their bullying activities to a level that these adults could happily ignore.

Harry remembered that time when he had been running from Dudley and his gang and then- suddenly- he had found himself up on the roof of the school kitchens. Severus had explained how that was a good example of how Harry had "used magic instinctively, in self-defence". But then the school headmistress had written a very angry letter to the Dursleys telling them that Harry had been climbing school buildings. Harry had been stuck in his cupboard for weeks after that (fortunately- or unfortunately, possibly- they still had to let him out to go to school). Really, he would have been better off if Dudley had caught him, just that once. What use was magic if it just made things worse?

The lingering cat odour followed him as he plodded down the street. He realised he was covered in cat hairs. He brushed them off as well as he could. As he drew closer to 4, Privet Drive, he walked more slowly, apprehensively, knowing that each step took him closer to the end of his journey and that his Aunt and Uncle were probably waiting for him.

Sure enough, just as he was walking up the drive, Uncle Vernon flung open the front door, slamming it into the wall with such force that a little bit of plaster was shaken loose.

'Where have you been?' he yelled, red-faced. 'Get inside!'

He grabbed Harry's shoulder and roughly shoved him into the porch. 'You think we'll let you wriggle out of doing your chores if you come home late?' he said with an unpleasant smirk. 'Well, you've got another think coming. If you don't work, you don't eat. It's as simple as that!'

After that, Harry was made to dust and clean the entire house (which didn't take very long- Harry did the dusting and cleaning often enough that the dust rarely had time to settle). Then, while the Dursleys sat down to eat dinner, Harry had to clean the kitchen and wash up all of the pots and pans that Aunt Petunia had used.

He could hear Uncle Vernon talking excitedly about how he had persuaded one of his clients to purchase a large number of drills. Apparently, he'd had a great day at work. Aunt Petunia gave him simpering congratulations. For a few moments, there was a temporary lull in the conversation while they concentrated on eating. Dudley attacked his meal with such aggressiveness that there were a few sharp squeaks as his cutlery scraped against his plate.

Harry's stomach rumbled. He wondered when (or if) he would be allowed to eat tonight.

Uncle Vernon started talking about Grunnings again and Harry stopped listening. A few minutes later he realised that there was silence in the dining room.

'What- what are _they_ doing here?' said Uncle Vernon. His voice was tinged with curiosity.

There was the screech of a chair being pushed back as someone stood up. A few seconds later someone else got up. Harry heard Vernon's heavy footsteps. There was some furtive whispering going on, but he couldn't hear what was being said. Dudley was still eating; he'd crammed large amounts of food into his mouth and was chewing noisily.

'They've stopped,' said Petunia. 'Vernon, do you think-?'

Uncle Vernon shushed her. 'I'm sure it's nothing to do with us,' he said. 'Maybe the Edmunds-'

Petunia let out a shrill shriek. 'They're coming here! Look!'

Uncle Vernon charged into the kitchen, grabbed Harry, picked him up and bundled him into the cupboard under the stairs. 'You stay here! If you make so much a sound I swear I'll beat you to a bloody pulp!' he said, his moustache bristling menacingly. He shut the door and locked it, leaving Harry alone in the dark, shaken and confused.

He heard the ringing of the doorbell. A few moments passed. And then someone rushed to answer the door.

* * *

><p>'I must say I'm not impressed with the police response times around here,' said Lupin wryly. He carefully measured three drops of Snape's Potion of Non-Detection into the plastic medicine cup he'd brought with him.<p>

Thus far he'd been able to spy on Harry Potter and the Dursley family without needing anything more than a Disillusionment Charm to ensure that he wouldn't be seen. But now the plan was reaching its final stages he wanted to sneak in a little closer.

* * *

><p>That afternoon, a short time after lessons had finished for the day, Snape made a desultory attempt to mark some of the homework that had been handed in. He soon gave up and spent the rest of the time staring at the clock. When it was nearly four o'clock, Dumbledore brought two visitors to see him in his office. It was obvious to them that he desperately wanted to be somewhere else.<p>

Over the past week, Dumbledore had noticed that Snape looked increasingly unwell, tired and haggard. He had little sympathy to spare. Snape had asked for this; he had insisted that he would find Harry Potter a better home and he had demanded to be allowed to resign and leave Hogwarts. Dumbledore had given him everything he had asked for. The difficulty of finding a replacement Potions Master in the middle of term time (and all the attendant administrative issues associated with that task) had more than doubled Dumbledore's workload. Snape wasn't the only one who was feeling the strain.

'Professor Snape, may I introduce Tihomir Stojanović, former Professor of Healing at Durmstrang Academy?' said Dumbledore, as exuberant as ever.

Snape glanced blearily at the man that Dumbledore had pointed out to him. Tihomir Stojanović was a middle-aged man with unruly grey hair, wearing a thick beard and a long red coat. His face was marked with several faint scars and his skin was tanned and weathered. He looked as though he spent a great deal of time outdoors, Snape thought, disapprovingly. (He knew that he was being unreasonable if he expected a prospective Potions Master to look as though he'd spent years in a dungeon slaving over a succession of hot cauldrons, but Severus Snape was not by nature a reasonable man.)

Stojanović smiled affably and offered his hand to shake. He had the carefree attitude of a man who had achieved most of his goals in life. Without much enthusiasm, Snape shook his hand; he had taken an immediate dislike to Mr. Stojanović. Still, he would make a show of good manners if it would get him through this meeting sooner.

'And- well- you know Carmenta Vásquez, by reputation at least.'

Snape became slightly more animated as he came face-to-face with the woman he had nominated as his successor (of course, she had been one of many- he had given Dumbledore a long list of well-renowned and highly qualified men and women all of whom would have been suitable candidates- but she was the only one who had wanted the job).

Carmenta Vásquez was a small woman dressed in a smart business suit of a kind that the majority of women in the British wizarding world likely would have disdained as looking too much like something a muggle would wear. She had a sad, haunted look in her eyes. Her hands were covered with angry dark brown blotches; Snape looked at them for a moment before he realised that they were burn scars. There was another, similar burn scar on her neck, partially hidden by the collar of her blouse.

'I... I've always admired your work,' Snape said tentatively.

A complex mixture of emotions flickered across her face: she was surprised and gratified, but at the same time she looked pained and miserable; she was proud of the things she had accomplished, but that was a part of her life that could not be separated from memories of pain, grief and rage. She retreated behind an expressionless mask, pretending that she was alright, trying not to care.

She belatedly realised that she should reply to what Snape had said. 'Thanks. Thank you,' she muttered. Her voice crackled. Her breath was a hiss of steam. 'I appreciate it.'

'Well, Severus, I expect you have some advice you'd like to give to anyone looking to take over the job of Hogwarts' Potions Master?' said Dumbledore. He wanted to fill the expanding silence and keep the conversation flowing smoothly; he didn't really expect Snape to come up with a satisfactory answer.

'No,' said Snape. 'They've applied for the job. They should already know everything they need to know.' He shrugged and sighed dispiritedly. 'They don't need my help.'

He was dazzled by Dumbledore's beaming smile. 'I've invited Mr. Stojanović and Mrs. Vásquez to stay at the castle over the weekend. They will each have the opportunity to teach one of your lessons on Monday afternoon. You and I and several of the school governors will observe and assess them.'

'A rather more rigorous interview process than anything I had to go through,' said Snape acidly. 'Fine. Which of the school governors will be taking part?'

'Lemuel Frye, Cornelia Griffiths and Lucius Malfoy.'

At the mention of Lucius Malfoy's name, Snape raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore and then glanced meaningfully at Stojanović.

Unabashed, Stojanović said, 'I know Lucius Malfoy. His father, Abraxas, very generously funded some of my research, years ago. Is that a problem?'

'Not at all,' Dumbledore assured him.

'What were you researching?' said Vásquez curiously.

'Alchemy,' said Stojanović. 'I searched for the universal panacea. I didn't find it, but at least the results of my failures were interesting.'

Dumbledore suggested that the results of his failures had been "lucrative" as well.

'Yes,' said Stojanović, 'I've made some useful discoveries. But not what I was originally looking for.'

'What discoveries?' said Snape. His tone was snappish. He was sure that the first time he had heard of Tihomir Stojanović was when Dumbledore had mentioned his name at breakfast a few days ago. How "interesting" or "useful" could his discoveries have been if Snape, in all his years of reading _Potions Monthly_, had never heard of them?

Stojanović looked at Snape consideringly. 'Have you heard of the Draught of Healing Sleep? Just two spoonfuls of that will knock a man out for a day and a half; afterwards, he will wake up refreshed and cured of most common poisons and diseases. That was one of my inventions.'

'Hmm,' Snape grunted. Indeed, he had heard of the Draught of Healing Sleep. It wasn't commonly used by Healers at St. Mungo's. There were plenty of faster-acting remedies that were used to treat "common" poisons and diseases. Sometimes, it was their last resort, when they had tried every other option and they could find no cure for some unusual and life-threatening illness.

'Maybe you should try some?' said Stojanović. 'You look like you need it.'

Snape glowered at him. Ordinarily, he would have retaliated with a volley of cruelly incisive insults, but fatigue had dulled his wits. He couldn't think of anything to say, not without resorting to the kind of foul language he'd have punished his students for using. Instead, he gave Stojanović his most contemptuous sneer. Stojanović hardly seemed to notice.

'Well, that's all sorted, then,' said Dumbledore. He had returned to an earlier stage of the conversation, ignoring the mounting tension of the past few minutes. Snape blinked at him confusedly, unsure of what he was referring to.

'Mr. Stojanović will teach the first lesson on Monday afternoon. Mrs. Vásquez will teach the second,' Dumbledore reminded him. 'Don't forget.'

He turned to look at his guests. 'Do either of you have any questions you want to ask Professor Snape, while we're here?' he asked.

'No, I think not,' said Stojanović. He'd seen the malevolent expression on Snape's face and decided not to further provoke him.

'I do,' said Vásquez.

She had quite a complicated question to ask, about an article that Snape had written and had published in _Potions Monthly_ nearly five years ago, an article he could barely remember writing. He had detailed his failed attempts to turn his idea for the 'Draught of Direful Dreams' into a reality. For one of the key ingredients, Snape had imagined terrible nightmares, extracted them from his own head and added them to the brew. Alas, Snape had been unable to formulate a version of the potion that wasn't a deadly poison; still, Vásquez was thrilled with the possibility of using the raw stuff of thought and memory as an ingredient in potions and she asked if Snape had done any more research.

It was with a sick feeling in his stomach that Snape admitted that his research had come to nothing and that he had given up. He didn't say that he kept a sample of one of his disastrous attempts at making the Draught of Direful Dreams on the top shelf in his office; he wished she would just drop the subject. What was she getting out of this? Was she simply trying to demonstrate to Dumbledore that she had spent a lot of time swotting up in preparation for this meeting?

There was a look of avid intensity on her face. She had about her an air of quiet desperation. She was a mystery that Snape didn't have time for and couldn't be bothered to solve.

'That will be all, Professor,' said Dumbledore. 'We won't take up any more of your time. Have a good afternoon.'

'Good to meet you,' said Stojanović. He decided against trying for another handshake in case he got his hand bitten off.

Vásquez nodded stiffly. 'I hope we can talk again,' she said.

Snape muttered something platitudinous in reply. He watched as Dumbledore and his other visitors departed. He waited a few minutes, making sure that they were definitely gone. At last, he was free!

He set off, sprinting down the hallways, taking every shortcut he could think of. He would be there as soon as he could.

* * *

><p>In the dark of the cupboard, Harry tried to sit still and make no noise. His wrist hurt because he'd landed badly when Uncle Vernon had picked him up and dumped him in the cupboard. It was a horrible pain and it was all he could do to keep himself from whimpering.<p>

He heard voices in the corridor. Uncle Vernon was blustering at someone. That someone was a man whose voice Harry didn't recognise; he spoke calmly and politely and with such iron determination that there was nothing Uncle Vernon could say to distract him from his purpose. Uncle Vernon's tone had at first been cajoling, then indignant, then accusing, all to no avail.

Harry couldn't hear everything that was being said. Some of it was quite muffled. And some of what he did hear he didn't completely understand. He heard the phrase "serious allegations", but he wasn't sure what that meant. Judging by the context, it probably had nothing to do with large semi-aquatic reptiles (but that would have been his first guess).

Aunt Petunia's voice was wheedling; she said something about how the Dursley family consisted of "decent, law-abiding" people and that the "officers" could "ask anyone". Another male voice- not the man that Harry had heard speaking before- said that they were here to see for themselves.

It sounded like the voices were getting closer. Harry heard the floor creak underfoot.

'Open this door, Mr. Dursley.'

'That? That's just a cupboard,' said Uncle Vernon. He laughed loudly; the sound was horribly fake. 'There's nothing to see in there. Now, through here-'

'Open the door to this cupboard, Mr. Dursley.'

Uncle Vernon protested a few more times. He tried to say that the key was missing. 'Haven't seen it in years,' he said.

The reply came so quietly that (to Harry, at least) it was barely perceptible. He heard two key phrases: "we'll stay here" and "battering ram". The rest was a distant murmur.

There was a short pause. Uncle Vernon's nerve broke. He handed over the key without another word.

Harry heard the key turning in the lock. The door opened. A burly young man in a policeman's uniform was standing there. There were at least two more policemen that Harry could see. One of them was putting handcuffs on Uncle Vernon.

'Come on, lad. Up you get,' said the policeman who'd unlocked the door to Harry's cupboard. He helped Harry to his feet. Blinking rapidly in a light that suddenly seemed achingly bright, Harry stepped out into the hallway. He stepped out into a new life.

* * *

><p><em><span>Notes:<span>__  
>This chapter is already the longest I've written for this story. I was planning to write an article about some of my own pet theories of wizarding genetics in the Harry Potter universe. But perhaps I should save that for later. Anyway, there are hundreds of essays about how J.K Rowling's explanation of wizarding genetics doesdoesn't make sense. There isn't a pressing need for me to add another one to the pile._

_Carmenta Vásquez is my attempt to deconstruct a certain type of Mary Sue character. If I've done my job properly, that shouldn't be too obvious. But still..._

_Please review!_


End file.
